I think I've made a mistake.
Loop twenty-four, and I can't even remember why I started.
I walked downstairs. Violet was in the kitchen, her expression unreadable, a somber stillness written across her face.
"Everything alright, my love?" I asked, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She didn't lean into it. Didn't flinch. Just sat there, blank, like a canvas left out in the rain.
"I just don't think I'm doing enough," she mumbled. Her voice was small, but by now I knew every syllable by heart. They were etched into the walls of my skull.
Alright. Let's try this one this loop.
"What? I'm surprised you aren't saying you feel like you're doing too much."
Nothing. Not even a twitch of her lip.
Fuck.
Reset.
I move through the same steps again. Wake up. Walk downstairs. Ask the same question.
"What's making you feel like this?"
She sighs, eyes closing as she leans her head against the counter. Same posture. Same ache.
"I just… You work so hard. Writing all day and night. I saw your phone, you're looking for another job while I sit at that boring-ass desk job. I feel like I'm stalling. Like I'm not moving."
That's new. Shit. I wasn't ready for new.
I froze for a moment. Then walked over and wrapped my arms around her.
"I do everything I do for you. That's what keeps me going. I want to give you the best, because you deserve the best."
This time, she hugged me back.
Finally. Progress.
I slid into the seat beside her, pulling her close. My arm around her waist like a lifeline.
"You're enough for me. You always will be."
I heard it, that crack in her breath. The quiet shake in her chest. Then the flood.
She buried her face in my chest as the tears broke loose, muffled sobs soaking into my shirt. The sound filled the room like rain in a quiet house.
Rocket padded into the kitchen, small paws and softer meows. He jumped onto the counter, placing a gentle paw on her arm.
"Mommy's okay, baby," she whispered through the tremble, pulling Rocket into her arms and hugging him like an anchor.
My head throbbed, splitting, screaming. The toll of every reset dragging behind my eyes.
I stood, or tried to. My legs buckled beneath me like wet paper. One hand on the counter, the other grasping at air.
I didn't even make it a full step before the world slipped out from under me.
Darkness.
The last thing I heard was Violet calling my name. The last thing I felt was Rocket's paw against my hand.
The dream was... difficult to grasp.
We floated through space, no gravity, no fear, just Violet by my side, as always. We moved through the stars like it was second nature, gliding through constellations as if they were clouds. She sang to me as we drifted, soft hums and delicate verses that felt like an angel cradling the universe. Every motion she made was captivating, divine. Even among everything supernatural we'd done, she still outshined it all. She was the magic.
I stirred awake slowly, groggy and drained. A small weight pressed gently against my chest, Rocket. He climbed up with determination, screaming in my face like he was trying to resurrect me.
"I heard you, Rocket, he's awake," Violet called from the hallway.
She walked in like a dream still unfolding, every step effortless, like she didn't walk so much as glide. "Welcome back, handsome. How was the nap?" Her voice danced with playfulness.
I tried to laugh, but it escaped like a broken cough. "Like hell," I muttered, throat raw and sore.
"Clearly." She settled at the edge of the bed, brushing a hand through my locs, letting her fingers travel down to my collarbone. Her gaze followed the motion, slow and reverent, like I was something fragile.
I glanced toward the window, Yggdrasil. Its leaves still glowed, just as vibrant as ever. That surprised me. After all the resets, all the energy I poured out, the light hadn't dimmed.
I turned my attention back to Violet, gently stroking the back of her hand. Her eyes met mine, deep, endless, starry. My heart begged me to speak.
"I…" My voice cracked softer than I meant. "I'm sorry."
She tilted her head slightly, her tone calm and smooth as silk. "For what, my love?"
I couldn't keep it from her.
"This morning, I…"
She cut me off, her voice unshaken. "Reset a bunch of times, right?"
I shouldn't be surprised that she knew. We're too connected now to keep secrets, even if we tried.
"I know because I did the same thing," she said, her voice trembling for the first time.
Shock hit first. Then confusion. How had it worked without us noticing? Were we resetting at the same time, overlapping, missing each other?
"I didn't know what to say," she whispered. "I kept trying. I wanted to express myself but... every loop just made it worse."
Her words started to break. Her shoulders tensed as the tears finally came, head sinking into her chest. She couldn't hold them back this time.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed.
The rest of the day felt… off. A lingering tension in the air, subtle but constant, like static just before a storm. I couldn't shake the feeling that one of us might still be resetting. And I hated it. Hated this uncertainty, this quiet mistrust curling between us like smoke.
I sat in my office, hands on the keyboard, typing complete nonsense. My mind couldn't focus. I was a week behind on my chapters, and my editor had been riding me harder than usual. I tried to center myself like I'd done before, clear my head, breathe, release, but nothing stuck. My thoughts kept looping: Is she doing it again? Is she trying to make the day perfect, again?
And right as I finally started to let it go… she walked in.
Somber. Quiet. Guilt drawn across her face like a veil.
I spun my chair to face her. "What's wrong?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
She sighed, the breath shaky. "I… I just kept trying to make the perfect day," she said softly. "I wanted to keep your mind off of resetting… but in the process, I kept resetting the day myself."
I closed my eyes and exhaled, slow. So my suspicions weren't misplaced. That ache in my chest wasn't paranoia. It was connection.
"What went wrong?" I asked, tilting my head back, now staring at the ceiling.
She hesitated. Her voice broke as she answered, "I don't know. I just… wanted to make you happy. And I just… kept going."
Kept going…?
That phrasing dropped like a stone in my gut.
"How many times?" I asked, my voice low, careful.
She looked away, unable to meet my eyes. The silence stretched. Then finally, almost inaudibly:
"…Forty-eight."