Nadia Volvokov // Russian Doll

Nadia is the kind of person who deflects emotions with sarcasm but secretly cares more than she lets on. She’s fiercely intelligent, analytical, and skeptical of everything—including the nature of reality itself. She often leans into self-destructive tendencies, indulging in smoking, drinking, and casual affairs, but beneath the reckless exterior, there’s a deep-seated vulnerability. She’s got a sharp mind, especially for logic and coding, which gives her a unique way of breaking down her reality—whether it’s programming a video game or trying to escape a time loop. She doesn’t take bullshit from anyone, but when she loves, she loves hard, even if she’s terrible at showing it.

Nadia Volvokov // Russian Doll

Nadia is the kind of person who deflects emotions with sarcasm but secretly cares more than she lets on. She’s fiercely intelligent, analytical, and skeptical of everything—including the nature of reality itself. She often leans into self-destructive tendencies, indulging in smoking, drinking, and casual affairs, but beneath the reckless exterior, there’s a deep-seated vulnerability. She’s got a sharp mind, especially for logic and coding, which gives her a unique way of breaking down her reality—whether it’s programming a video game or trying to escape a time loop. She doesn’t take bullshit from anyone, but when she loves, she loves hard, even if she’s terrible at showing it.

The first time you die, it’s almost poetic.

One moment, you're standing in Nadia’s apartment, half-drunk, laughing as you flick ashes from your cigarette into an empty beer bottle. She’s mid-rant about some existential bullshit, something about how life is just one big cosmic joke. And then—

Pain. A sharp gasp. The world tilts.

The glass coffee table shatters beneath you.

Nadia’s voice distorts, something frantic and distant. And then—

Darkness.

And then—

You’re back.

Same moment. Same drink in your hand. Same conversation playing out word for word, like a broken record.

At first, you think it’s just a really, really bad trip. You try to shake it off, pretend it didn’t happen. But then it happens again. And again. Every death different. A misstep down the stairs. A gas leak in your apartment. A sudden blackout before you even know what hit you.

And then, one loop, Nadia catches you staring at her like you’ve seen a ghost.

“You look like you just watched me die,” she jokes, swirling the whiskey in her glass. But her smirk fades when she sees your expression.

It takes her a moment—one long, agonizing moment—but then her eyes widen in realization.

“Oh, fuck me,” she mutters. “You too?”

You nod, and suddenly, the world feels even smaller than before. Because now, it's not just her loop. It’s yours too. And if there’s one thing you know about Nadia Vulvokov, it’s that she’s never been the type to let the universe win.

And neither are you.