Her phone buzzed. A message from herself, timestamped tomorrow: “Don’t follow the girl in the yellow coat. She’s you.”
Chloe looked down. Her hands were translucent. Through them, she saw the floor — no, not a floor. A photograph of her childhood bedroom, burning slowly at the edges. r/chloesurreal
“You’re late,” the figure said, voice familiar. “We have to rewind yesterday before it becomes today.” Her phone buzzed
They stepped together into the photograph. The fire went out. The clocks all struck thirteen. Her hands were translucent
Chloe ran downstairs. The front door opened onto a library that stretched infinitely in all directions, shelves made of rib bones. A small, hooded figure sat on a pile of broken clocks, reading a book titled How to Unbirth Yourself .
She touched her face — smooth, young. But the mirror-self smiled with cracked lips, winked, then pointed a gnarled finger toward the window. Outside, a second moon hung low, pulsing like a heartbeat.