I think I’m as good as dead. Luckily my judgment is slightly wrong, and her foot lands about six inches from my waist and avoids both me and the yarn I’m tied to. She walks over to the dresser, takes out some of Jenny’s eyeliner, and begins putting it on her face. After a minute or so she is finished and begins to leave the room. I hear her footsteps coming and try to look behind me, but I can’t really turn my head. I lie there in fear unable to tell where she is stepping or whether she will step on me. I hear her steps come closer and closer, not sure whether the next moment will be my last. Does she step on me?
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