Cecilia's eyes snapped open and the first thing she saw was that accursed cracked beam over her bed.
She'd expected it, but the reality was still there for her to see. She was still in the loop.
She stared at the beam for a moment, then sat up.
She had stopped counting the loop somewhere in the seven hundreds. By the time the number had climbed past that, counting had started to feel like something a different person would do. Someone who still believed the number mattered. She had long since stopped being that person.
She swung her legs off the bed and stood, crossing the room to the cosmetic table without hurrying.
The room was exactly as it always was. The canopy curtains, the golden-trimmed mirror, the collection of hairpins arranged in the same order they always returned to, no matter what she did with them in any given loop.
She picked up her favorite.
