Miranda could only stand on the windowsill, tapping her foot silently as the horny child she had been placed in charge of clambered down the wall, trotting through the crack in the bathroom door.
“Oz. I’m only going to say this once. Do not go over there.”
Oz, meanwhile, was being driven more by his instincts than any sort of logic. He couldn’t really hear Miranda, even as she hissed out, “OZ! Get the hell back here!”
“It’ll only take a second, I promise!”
Miranda looked to the cracked windowsill, then back down to Oz. She knew, in her heart, that in the kitchen the rest of the group’s friends were scrounging around for food, rope, string, needles, supplies... preparing for the journey ahead, risking everything with each passing moment they were gone. And Miranda also knew precisely how much danger they’d be in if Oz’s little stunt led to Andrea waking up and the group getting caught.
She thought for a minute. She was alone, after all. She could feasibly leave on her own. No food, but it wouldn’t be particularly difficult to slip into another nearby home, maybe… slink around, find a crumb. Hell, living off the land would be a fair option. Acorns were edible, right? Wait, how would a couple of dolls be strong enough to break open an acorn.
Miranda sighed at her decision calculus and angled her little feet to climb down the rigid wall herself when she saw a sight that made her blood run cold.
Andrea was moving.
The bulbous butt of hers was twitching, and shifting, sending the half-on blanket cascading down her front and revealing it to the rest of them in all its glory. The single-minded Oz was nearly a foot away from the foot of the bed, and thus couldn’t see the sight from over the angle. But surely he could hear her, right?
Well, it wasn’t quite clear. Miranda made a split second decision, looking to the window, and then back to Oz, and decided to cup her hands about her mouth, sending a piercing whispered hiss in Oz’s direction. Miranda’s luscious, long legs were now angling themselves, preparing to anchor themselves to the ground. For what reason she was awakening, Miranda did not know. All she knew was that if Oz walked even an inch closer…
They were all going to die.
“OZ.”
Oz turned, confused at the sound coming from Miranda’s direction.
With a tremor that knocked him off-balance, Andrea’s colossal feet landed on either side of Oz, sending him to the ground. Andrea yawned, and Oz could only stare as the spires that were her legs unfurled to a rich, bouncy, impossibly soft butt, clad in even more impossibly softer silk.
Andrea scratched her head, and she began to walk to the bathroom.
Miranda gulped. In the darkness, she could see the groggy goddess taking leisurely steps to her bathroom. In a moment of desperate abandon, Miranda forgot everything. All her pontificating about loyalty, and the friends she’d been forced to make in this hellish situation. Any sense of camaraderie went out the window as the door swung open and the lights flickered on, blinding Miranda and giving Andrea a brief window of opportunity as she exited her fear-induced stupor. She made a dive for the crack in the window.
Miranda reached the toilet, reaching a hand to pull it up before, quite by chance, her eyes happened upon a little flicker of life, squirming to get underneath the cracked window pane.
“What… the fuck?” Andrea whispered, before her own mind sprung into action. Like seeing an actual cockroach, any semblance of fatigue left her own body as she darted her hand to grab hold of the tiny woman’s tiny legs, her screaming all the way, tears streaming down her face as pricks of blood from the rough wood scraped through her belly side.
Andrea hung Miranda upside down from her fingertips. Miranda could barely focus as the nauseating angle did a number on her, the only recognizable image being the cruel brown face of Andrea’s, lips curling into a devastatingly sinister smile.
“So, you managed to escape? I have to admit, I am, actually, honestly, positively impressed. Really, it’s true.”
Nonchalantly, Andrea squeezed a bit down on her captive’s ankles, and in a moment, every bone inside of Miranda’s feet had been reduced to dust. She screamed a piercing scream, shattering Oz’s concentration as she watched the scene from the foot of the bed. And she kept screaming. And screaming. The pain was that encompassing.
“Perhaps it was laziness on my part. I didn’t even think to doll-proof the place; I never would’ve expected you to escape my perfectly-confining compartment of affects. How’d you do it? Teamwork, I presume?”
Andrea’s fingertips inched down Miranda’s body, now encompassing her lower-legs. And once again, she squeezed, utterly obliterating the bones and muscles that made up the once-beautiful woman’s tibias. Miranda’s ever present screams acquired a new hoarseness to them, but they showed no signs of slowing down.
“I guess I oughta quit pussyfooting around… shit, I guess I should’ve done this before you were all mangled… sorry, sorry, it’s just I was just, so, so… so damn ANGRY.” Miranda’s entire fist curled around the hanging woman’s femur, and clenched. In only a moment, the only objects working on the doll’s body were the pelvis and above.
“Sorry, sorry!” Andrea continued, though the predator’s look in her eyes implied she was anything but.
Andrea deposited the little woman into her palm, where she lay sprawled in a pile. Her legs had been transformed into lumpy strips of fleshy rope, blood and bone shards poking from the shattered remnants of her skin.
“So, go ahead and tell me. Did the others leave before you.”
A dejected Miranda, the majority of her screams already taken from her, didn’t move, except very slightly. While able to speak, she could not bring her mouth to make words. Instead, she crawled around within Andrea’s palm, positioning herself as well as she could on the busted remnants of her knees. Without preamble, she knelt her head down into them. An outside observer might think Miranda was… praying.
“Okay, fine. So don’t tell me,” Andrea said, not seeing the clear signs of supplication. “I’ll find them myself…” she purred, her fingers now curling up and over her captive, who did not inch at all from her newfound position beneath this goddess of a woman. As they compressed, their infinite softness contrasting with the roughness of Miranda’s scars and broken bones, they felt almost… comfortable. Soft. Blanketing the tiny woman in their coziness, squeezing her gently, tightly, Miranda began to whisper. Mutter to herself. Mutter for safe passage wherever she was going. And hoping she had performed her tasks in this life well. To her newly apotheosized one true deity.
Andrea crushed Miranda.
The squelch speckled Andrea with tiny droplets of blood. The fluid leaked out from her fists. Slowly, she opened her fingers, seeing the meaty remains of the doll’s viscera, and smiled as she dragged her tongue along the carnage, scooping up the little remaining that could, in any capacity, be recognized as Miranda. She gulped down the doll, and then continued licking the blood off her hand until it was nice and tan, without a trace of the red stuff anywhere. Andrea’s lips, however, were another story.
Andrea turned on the sink to get rid of the sticky feeling as Oz, eyes wide, heart pounding, sweat making a pool beneath his near-nude form, watched. He had witnessed the entire event. Even though Miranda’s body was mostly obscured by Andrea, the screams and the eventual blood splatter that followed were enough to fill in the blanks.
The blanks. Those horrific, indescribable, disgusting, grotesque blanks.
For no reason in particular, Oz looked down at the underwear he wore, the only garment he owned.
They were soiled. And it wasn’t with piss.
For better or worse, Oz had succeeded at his last minute prep. Why witnessing the execution of his companion was the trigger, he did not know. He stood up shakily, trying to walk while chafing at the crowded situation in his undergarments, just as Andrea shut the sink off, closed the bathroom window, and prepared to search for the rest of her shrunken pests.