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The girl closed her eyes tightly, waiting for her grandmother's lethal blow... but it never came.
Instead, an indescribable chill ran through her body, as if life itself was leaving her.
When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the family dining room, but something had changed.
The table was still there, the tablecloth in place, but everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and oblivion.
The house looked abandoned, as if no one had lived there in decades.
Confused, she looked at her small hands, untouched but different in some sinister way.
She walked to the hall mirror and what she saw paralysed her with terror: her reflection was not her own, but that of the grandmother, with the same unnatural smile and the axe in her hand.
Suddenly, a trembling voice rang out from the table:
-Run! Don't look back!
It was her own grandfather, crouched under the tablecloth, his eyes filled with indescribable terror.
But this time, it was she who held the axe, with her grandmother's empty, crazed gaze.
The girl realised then that her soul had been transported through time, caught in an endless loop of madness and violence.
Now she was the murderer, doomed to repeat her grandmother's deeds over and over again, wielding the axe with a demented grin as her grandfather fled in terror.