Nadia yawned as she strolled through the quiet suburban mall on an early weekday morning. The mall was nearly deserted, with only a few scattered shoppers and mall employees slowly preparing for the day's routine. She glanced around at the half-closed shops, the muted hum of the escalators, and the distant sound of soft elevator music. It was serene but oddly unsettling. The mall had a strange emptiness this early, as if it were a relic waiting to come to life.

Like many women, she loathed going to work. Her job wasn’t difficult by any means, especially compared to other lines of work. It was the sheer boredom of it that made it dreadful. The repetitive nature of her days, the mechanical conversations with customers, and the endless mall noise made time drag. Still, she appreciated the money it earned her. Each payday was a reminder that she’d made a smart move in pursuing her unusual business venture.

The foreign woman rented and operated a small kiosk in this affluent mall. Unlike other vendors, she didn't sell any goods but instead provided a service. Her business model was unheard of in the Western world—a novelty of sorts. She offered pedicures using men, a standard pedicure treatment back in her native homeland. In the West, it was shocking, a curiosity that both appalled and fascinated people.

In the mornings, Nadia felt particularly disconnected from this place. Back home in Persia, the streets would be bustling, and the parlor she used to visit for her own pedicures always had a welcoming warmth about it. Here, the mall felt sterile, artificial. Still, this was where she had made her business. It was a curious world, where old traditions met modern capitalism, and in this world, she had found her niche.

When Nadia first moved to the Americas, she had struggled to find work. She didn’t possess a university degree or any particular skill set, unlike her spouse, an engineer whose work was in high demand. While she thrived in her position, Nadia floundered, unsure how to fit in with the fast-paced, industrialized society. As time passed, she began to feel the strain of not contributing financially and the loneliness of being away from home. It was during this period of homesickness that she first longed for the simple pleasures of Persia—specifically, the luxury pedicures that were so common there. A place where men, bred and conditioned for such work, would clean and groom the feet of women using nothing but their mouths.

Back in Persia, pedicures using men were common. They were available in everyday places—malls, plazas, and small shops—where women could drop in for a quick session. A woman would dip her feet into a warm tub, and a horde of ravenous men would cleanse them by eating away at her dead skin. It was a cheaper alternative to luxurious spa treatments, popular among women who wanted a convenient beauty routine.

At first, Nadia had simply purchased a few men for personal use, missing the convenient pedicures from back home. The men, who had never been used for this purpose, had to be trained. It took time to break their resistance, to condition them to respond to the sight and smell of feet. But it was a surprisingly easy task. They were desperate, malnourished, and eager to survive. They quickly learned that eating the skin from her feet was their only source of sustenance. 

It didn’t take long for Nadia to realize she had stumbled upon a viable business idea. She rented a small kiosk in the mall—a space large enough for a few chairs and tubs but small enough to keep costs low—and began offering the pedicure service to the affluent clientele. To her surprise, it was a hit.

In Persia, pedicures with male exfoliators were considered a cheap, quick treatment for women who didn’t want to spend too much on luxury spa services. Here in the Americas, though, it was viewed as a quirky indulgence, something to brag about over lunch with friends. There wasn’t much competition for her in this part of the world, so her kiosk had attracted quite a bit of attention. At one dollar per minute, her customers got a service they couldn’t find anywhere else—one that felt both exotic and taboo.

Her clients were a diverse mix—some intrigued, some disgusted at first, but all of them eventually curious enough to try. Once they experienced it, most returned, lured by the strange pleasure of it all. The tiny men she used were carefully trained, starving, and desperate. Their hunger made them efficient workers, and the sensation of their tiny teeth grazing the skin was bizarrely satisfying, as her clients would often remark. The men were fragile, and though they lasted longer than she initially expected, starvation and accidents sometimes took their toll. But their replacements were cheap, and there was always a steady supply from her supplier.

Before heading to the kiosk, Nadia made her usual stop at the coffee stand. The barista greeted her with a wide smile. “Hey Nadia! The usual?” she chirped, already reaching for the iced mocha ingredients.

“Yes, please.” Nadia replied, her voice still a little groggy.

The barista, a young woman in her twenties, was one of Nadia’s regulars. She had a fascination with the pedicures, returning every few weeks, always joking about how it was “the weirdest, most amazing thing” she had ever tried. Nadia found her amusing, in a harmless sort of way.

“Here you are! On the house.” the barista said, handing her the coffee with a wink.

“Thank you!” Nadia replied, genuinely touched. She had started getting free coffee regularly from a few of the baristas. In return, Nadia would offer them a few extra minutes of pedicure time for free. It was a symbiotic relationship. Many of the mall workers had become loyal customers, drawn in by the absurdity of it all but staying for the results. 

With her coffee in hand, Nadia continued her walk through the mall, past sleek clothing stores and brightly lit cosmetic shops. She glanced at her reflection in the glass windows, adjusting her headscarf slightly. Despite the mundane nature of her job, there was still a quiet pride in knowing she had carved out her own place in this foreign land. Not many could say they had done the same.

Her kiosk came into view. Its simple setup belied the strangeness of the service offered. Two leather chairs sat side by side, each with a large tub in front. A small counter held her register and a storage cabinet underneath. It was here that the real secret of her success was kept—the men. 

After unlocking the storage cabinet beneath the counter, Nadia casually pulled out four boxes and placed them on the counter before removing the lids. Each box revealed the pale, gaunt figures of the tiny men who stared up, disoriented from the sudden exposure to light. Their hollow eyes blinked against the brightness, and Nadia, with a practiced hand, checked their conditions, ensuring all were alive and ready to work. The slight tremors in their limbs signaled their deep hunger, which meant they would perform well today.

Nadia gave the boxes a shake to rouse them faster. She would need two boxes per customer—one for each foot. The men, having become accustomed to their role, remained compliant, though Nadia could see the occasional flicker of defiance or hopelessness in their eyes. They didn’t like it, but they knew they had no choice. Hunger had a way of breaking even the strongest wills. Just as she began preparing for the day, a middle-aged woman approached.

“Excuse me, are you open yet?” she asked, her voice polite but tinged with impatience.

Nadia glanced at the clock. Even though the sign indicated that she wasn’t open for another fifteen minutes, she wasn’t about to turn down potential money. Every customer counted, especially in the mornings when the day was just getting started. The men, of course, had no say in the matter—they were tools, instruments in her business.

“Yes, I’m just setting things up.” Nadia replied graciously, gesturing toward one of the two leather chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

The woman smiled in gratitude. "Thank you." she said courteously, her relief palpable as she lowered herself into one of the plush chairs. She immediately kicked off her designer sandals, allowing her tired feet a brief moment of relaxation. The woman clearly appreciated the convenience of a quick, efficient service. For someone busy, especially in a mall full of distractions and demands, Nadia’s kiosk offered an appealing alternative to the time-consuming salons and spas.

As the woman settled into her chair, Nadia hurriedly roused the men in the boxes. She tapped the edge of each container lightly, shaking them awake, forcing them to acknowledge the task that awaited. One by one, the scrawny men stumbled to their feet, blinking and swaying. It was a pitiful sight—creatures who had long since lost their dignity, but whose existence now depended entirely on the dirt and dead skin they would soon be feasting on.

“So how long would you like?” Nadia asked, approaching the woman with two boxes in hand.

“Ten minutes should be fine.” the woman replied, shifting her feet slightly, preparing for the treatment.

Nadia nodded and emptied the two boxes into the tub at the woman’s feet. The men tumbled out, hitting the cold basin floor with dull thuds. They quickly regained their composure, their small frames trembling as they sensed what was coming. Above them loomed the woman's feet, her soles worn and covered with calluses, grime, and patches of dead skin. The sight was all too familiar to the men—it was their daily reality, their mealtime.

With a gentle movement, the woman lowered her feet into the tub, and immediately, the men scrambled to their positions. It was always a chaotic, frantic process. Desperation drove them as they fought for the best spots on her feet, knowing that whoever consumed the most would stay nourished for a little longer. The rest would only get hungrier.

Some of the men clung to her heels, where the thickest layers of skin had accumulated, while others darted toward the ball of her foot, where softer, flakier patches of skin were ripe for the taking. The most agile among them squeezed between her toes, their mouths working at the slimy toe jam that had built up, while a few others, more nimble and precise, attacked the dirt embedded beneath her toenails. Their small hands clung desperately to her toes as they gnawed at the muck, their tiny mouths working tirelessly.

The woman sighed contentedly, her head leaning back against the chair. It feels so good, she murmured, closing her eyes. The gentle, ticklish sensation of the men’s mouths nibbling at her feet was oddly therapeutic, a strange luxury that had become addictive after her first visit. Though unconventional, she couldn’t deny the effectiveness of the service. It was faster, cheaper, and oddly more satisfying than a traditional pedicure.

As the minutes passed, the men devoured as much of the dead skin and grime as they could, their tiny faces now smeared with filth. But none of them complained. This was their purpose, and even if they despised it, survival was all that mattered.

When the ten minutes were up, the woman glanced down at her feet. “Actually, can I get another five minutes?” she asked, and Nadia nodded, ever ready to extend a session. An extra five minutes meant more money, after all.

The additional time passed quickly. By the time the woman finally lifted her feet from the tub, she smiled with satisfaction. Her soles were noticeably cleaner. The layers of dirt had been stripped away, and her calluses, once rough and cracked, now felt softened. Her toes spread, revealing pristine skin where gunk and grime had once lurked. Even beneath her long toenails, the dirt had been thoroughly removed.

“Wow, they really do a good job.” the woman said, admiring her feet.

Nadia, maintaining her professional demeanor, smiled. “They’ve been well-trained.” she replied smoothly as she collected the tiny men, some of whom lay in a daze from exhaustion, while others continued to nibble at the air, their minds still consumed by hunger.

The woman stood, paid Nadia for the service, and left with a bounce in her step, her satisfied smile indicating she would likely return soon. Nadia slipped the cash into the register, feeling a sense of satisfaction herself. It was only her first customer of the day, but it was always a good sign when the early customers left happy. More would follow, she was sure.

As the mall began to buzz with life, more women approached the kiosk, their curiosity piqued by the unusual service on display. Some were regulars, who swore by Nadia’s pedicures, while others were first-timers, lured by the strange allure of watching the tiny men work away at the feet of their customers. The men, meanwhile, continued their grim task, their lives a cycle of hunger and survival, forced to devour the dead skin and grime of their superiors. They had no future beyond this, no escape, but Nadia didn’t concern herself with their plight. For her, it was just business.

Alaina strolled through the bustling mall, her arms weighed down by an assortment of shopping bags. She had returned to her hometown for a short break from college, intending to catch up on a few errands, but after completing her to-do list, she found herself leisurely wandering from store to store, indulging in the kind of window shopping she rarely had time for at school. As she passed by the usual mix of chain clothing stores and boutiques, a curious kiosk caught her eye.

The setup was unusual: a woman reclined in a leather chair, her feet submerged in a tub. Alaina had heard rumors from her friends about a strange kiosk offering a special pedicure treatment involving men. It sounded bizarre, but they had raved about it, saying it was an experience worth trying. Glancing over, Alaina realized this had to be the place.

Her curiosity piqued, and with time on her hands, Alaina decided to give it a try. She wasn’t typically one for pampering—especially pedicures—but this seemed more like a novelty than a regular beauty treatment. Besides, her friends had promised it would be entertaining.

Alaina approached the kiosk, where Nadia greeted her warmly and directed her to one of the two chairs. After a brief exchange, Alaina opted for a fifteen-minute session, figuring it was long enough to get the full experience but short enough to avoid awkward small talk. Nadia gestured toward the tub with a professional smile, and Alaina took a seat, intrigued by what lay beneath the surface.

Peering down, she saw dozens of tiny, malnourished men writhing at the bottom of the tub. Their gaunt bodies shifted as they waited for the inevitable arrival of her feet. Alaina paused for a moment, taken aback by their sheer number. She hadn’t expected this many. They looked pitiful, almost insect-like in their frailty. However, she quickly brushed off any discomfort, reminding herself that this was just part of the experience.

With a slight shrug, she slipped off her flip-flops, exposing her size eleven feet. Aware that her feet hadn’t exactly been in the best condition after a long day of walking, Alaina hesitated. Would they be repulsed by the smell or the grime? But her concern was short-lived. As soon as her feet descended into the tub, the men scurried toward them with alarming speed, as though they had been waiting for this moment all day. They wasted no time, immediately nibbling at her soles and toes, their mouths working frantically to consume the dirt and dead skin that clung to her feet.

Alaina watched, fascinated. She could feel their tiny mouths moving against her skin, and though it tickled at first, the sensation quickly became oddly satisfying. It was strange—like watching tiny, mindless animals fighting over scraps of food. She had never given much thought to what these men might think or feel, but it was clear that, in this moment, their only concern was survival. They devoured everything in their path with fervor, as though her feet were the most precious source of sustenance they had ever encountered.

As the minutes passed, Alaina couldn’t help but notice how some of the men focused on specific areas. Several of them flocked to her toes, where the day’s buildup of sweat and grime had accumulated. Two of them, in particular, seemed determined to reach the prime real estate between her big toe and pointer toe, where her toe jam had thickened into a sticky paste. Amused, she spread her toes to give them easier access. She could feel them wriggling in between, fighting for the best spot, their tiny hands clinging desperately to her toes.

Alaina chuckled softly, watching as the two men jostled for position. It was like observing zoo animals fighting over scraps of food. Eventually, one man backed down, defeated, and went to work on her other toes, allowing his rival to claim the prized territory between her big and second toe. The sight was surreal, and Alaina couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of amusement and pity. At first, she had pitied them for their pathetic state, but now, as they happily feasted on the filth of her feet, she realized they didn’t seem to mind. In fact, they almost seemed to enjoy it. 

"Well," she thought to herself, “if it gives them some purpose in life, who am I to deny it?”

Of course, Alaina was oblivious to the grim reality of their existence. These men were kept in a constant state of starvation, conditioned to survive on nothing more than the grime and dead skin of women’s feet. It was a form of exploitation so normalized that no one even batted an eye anymore. The kiosk had become a popular spot in the mall, and yet not a single customer seemed to care about the ethical implications of what they were paying for. 

Alaina, completely unaware, continued to relax in her chair. She flexed her toes absentmindedly, her mind wandering to other things, when she suddenly felt resistance. Her eyes widened as she realized she had accidentally squeezed one of the men between her toes. His tiny body had been caught in her reflexive motion, and she felt him squirming in desperation.

"Whoops!" she blurted out, startled by her own carelessness. She immediately spread her toes again, releasing the unfortunate man. “Sorry, little guy.” she said with a giggle, more amused than concerned.

She glanced down and saw the man trembling, his body still shaking from the near-death experience. He looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes, clearly aware of how easily she could have crushed him. Alaina felt a fleeting pang of guilt, but the sight of the other men continuing their work without hesitation quickly distracted her. Reluctantly, the frightened man returned to his task, crawling back toward her toes and resuming his grim job of scraping away the filth between them.

As the session continued, Alaina found herself enjoying the treatment more than she expected. The feeling of the men nibbling at her feet was oddly soothing, and by the end of the fifteen minutes, her feet felt noticeably cleaner. The dead skin had been removed, the dirt scrubbed away, and even the calluses on her heels had softened slightly.

When her time was up, Alaina lifted her feet from the tub and admired the men’s handiwork. Her toes wiggled in the cool air, now free of grime and toe jam. She smiled, pleased with the results. It was definitely an experience she would remember, and next time she was in town, she’d have to bring her friends along.

She paid Nadia, thanked her for the service, and gathered her bags. As she walked away from the kiosk, her feet felt lighter, and she couldn’t shake the thought of how absurdly satisfying it had been to watch the tiny men devour the dirt from her feet. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be back for another session the next time she visited the mall.

Carmen hurried to the chair, eager to make the most of her short work break. She had been on her feet all day, moving from one task to another in the crowded clothing store where she worked. As one of Nadia's regulars, she knew exactly what she needed to feel refreshed during her limited downtime. Without wasting a moment, she removed her shoes and socks, tossing them aside. 

“Ten minutes, please.” she said to Nadia, who nodded with a knowing smile. Carmen was a familiar face, one of many mall employees who frequented the kiosk for a quick touch-up between salon appointments. The convenience was unbeatable, and though it wasn’t a luxury treatment, it served its purpose.

As she peeled off her socks, she noticed the slight sheen of sweat on her soles. It had been a long shift, and while she didn’t particularly care, she wiped away some of the sock lint clinging to her toes. Her feet, although generally well-maintained from regular pedicures, had accumulated a decent layer of grime and toe jam throughout the day. The thought of a quick cleanup before heading back to work was appealing.

With her feet freshly bare, she lowered them into the tub, where two dozen tiny, malnourished men awaited their task. Carmen’s feet, despite being better kept than most, still presented plenty of work for the men. But before they could tend to the dirt or dead skin, something more irresistible caught their attention.

The slight moisture from her sweaty feet was like a beacon to the men below. Their parched throats, barely hydrated by the small rations of water Nadia provided, craved the salty moisture that Carmen’s feet offered. The sweat, unnoticed by her, was like a precious nectar to the desperate men. 

The moment Carmen’s damp feet descended into the tub, chaos erupted. The men surged forward, their emaciated bodies scrambling to be the first to reach her soles. Some even jumped and shoved each other out of the way in their haste, eager to lick up the salty moisture before it evaporated.

Once her soles settled at the bottom, the men wasted no time. Their tongues darted out, licking greedily at the moisture clinging to her skin, savoring the taste as though it were a delicacy. They focused on the arches and balls of her feet, where the sweat had gathered most, drinking up as much as they could. For the men, it was a fleeting reprieve from the arid, dehydrated lives they led.

Carmen, however, barely noticed. She sat back in her chair, her attention fixed on her phone. She scrolled through notifications, replying to a few texts and checking her social media feed, only faintly aware of the soft tickling sensation on the bottom of her feet. She knew what the men were supposed to be doing—cleaning off her feet, nibbling away the dirt and dead skin that had built up during her shift. But as she glanced down, she realized that the men were more interested in licking up her sweat than doing the job they were supposed to. 

Stupid men, she thought with mild annoyance. They were so simple, so pathetic. They had one job, and they couldn’t even focus on it. With an exaggerated sigh, Carmen lifted her feet from the tub, sending a wave of disappointment through the men below. A few of them, desperate to continue drinking, tried to cling to her soles, but she simply shook them off, their tiny bodies tumbling back to the bottom of the tub.

Once her feet were clear of their grasp, she decided to teach them a lesson. Lowering her feet back down slowly, she used her toes to poke at the men who continued trying to lick her sweat. She pushed them aside with her enormous digits, nudging them away until they got the message. The men hesitated for a moment, reluctant to abandon the salty moisture they craved, but when Carmen’s toes pressed down more firmly, they finally relented.

With a resigned sigh, the men began to nibble at the dirt and dead skin between her toes, their tongues now focused on the filth they were meant to consume. Some dug into the crevices of her toes, finding small clusters of toe jam and grime, while others worked at the edges of her nails, clearing out the dirt lodged underneath. The satisfaction they had felt moments earlier was gone, replaced by the grim reality of their lives once again.

Carmen, satisfied that they were finally doing their job, relaxed back into her chair, her toes flexing occasionally as the men worked diligently on her feet. The tickling sensation returned, but this time, it was less distracting. She focused on her phone again, flipping through her messages as the minutes slipped away.

For the men in the tub, those ten minutes felt like an eternity. Every nibble, every scrape of their tiny teeth against her skin was a reminder of their subservience. Their sole purpose was to clean and feed off the feet of women like Carmen, a reality they had long since accepted. 

Carmen, however, didn’t spare them a second thought. As the end of her break approached, she glanced at her phone to check the time, realizing she had only a few minutes left. She wiggled her toes, feeling the men continue their task beneath her. They were nearly done, and her feet felt noticeably lighter—cleaner.

Once the time was up, Carmen lifted her feet from the tub and gave them a quick inspection. The men had done their job well, clearing away the day’s grime and leaving her toes and soles soft and smooth. Satisfied, she slid her feet back into her socks and shoes, feeling a sense of renewal.

"Thanks, Nadia." Carmen said as she handed over the money for the session. Nadia nodded and smiled, already preparing the next tub for the following customer. Carmen, now refreshed, slipped her phone into her pocket and headed back to work, ready to tackle the rest of her shift. As she walked away, the tiny men lay at the bottom of the tub, their brief respite from hunger now over, awaiting the next pair of feet to descend into their world.

“Come on, just try it! It’s not as gross as it sounds.” Kelly urged, pulling her friend Crystal toward Nadia's kiosk. Kelly was a regular customer and had been raving about the treatment for weeks, convinced that once Crystal experienced it, she'd be hooked.

Crystal grimaced at the sight of the small kiosk, eyeing the tubs where the supposed “treatment” took place. “Why would I want a bunch of gross men cleaning my feet?” she asked, her face scrunched in disbelief.

“Just trust me, you’ll love it. It feels amazing, I swear!” Kelly replied, her excitement unshaken by Crystal’s hesitation.

Crystal sighed, still unconvinced but not wanting to disappoint her friend. “Ugh, fine.” she grumbled as she followed Kelly to the chairs.

Once they sat down, Kelly immediately kicked off her flip-flops, looking like she had done this a hundred times. With practiced ease, she dipped her feet into the tub, completely ignoring the tiny men waiting inside. Her focus shifted to her phone, scrolling through social media as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Crystal, on the other hand, couldn’t get past the weirdness of it all. She cautiously glanced into the tub beneath her chair. The sight of two dozen tiny men, some looking up at her with blank expressions, sent a shiver down her spine. She shot a quick look at Kelly, who was already absorbed in her phone, oblivious to the men now busily tending to her feet.

"How is she so chill about this?" Crystal wondered, feeling both disgusted and intrigued at the same time. With a deep breath, she reluctantly slipped off her own flip-flops and slowly lowered her feet into the tub, her toes hovering above the men. At first contact, she jolted slightly when she felt a soft nibble on the side of her foot, as if one of the men was testing the texture of her skin. Her eyes widened, and she looked at Kelly again, but her friend remained unfazed.

“Are you seriously not bothered by this?” Crystal asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. Kelly only waved her off, completely engrossed in her phone.

Tentatively, Crystal lowered her feet again, this time letting them rest at the bottom of the tub. The tiny men, conditioned to their task, immediately began their work. They nibbled at her dry skin, meticulously focusing on the areas that had built up grime. Some ventured between her toes, while others targeted the dead skin around her heels and the balls of her feet. Crystal felt an odd tickling sensation as the men scurried around, each one intent on their task.

Despite her initial disgust, she found herself growing more accustomed to the bizarre treatment. It still felt strange, but the tickling started to become less uncomfortable. She even stifled a giggle when one of the men wiggled his way between her toes, cleaning out the grime that had accumulated from a long day in her sandals.

Fifteen minutes later, the session was coming to an end. Crystal glanced down, watching as the men continued to nibble and clean without pause. She still found the whole situation gross, but there was something weirdly satisfying about how efficient the little men were. However, as she flexed her toes and watched them scatter, she knew this wasn’t something she’d rush back to do again.

Kelly, on the other hand, was glowing with satisfaction. “Wasn’t that amazing?” she asked, clearly pleased with the experience. “See, I told you! It’s so much better than a regular pedicure.”

“Yeah… I don’t know about that.” Crystal replied, still feeling a bit squeamish. “It was… interesting, I guess.”

Kelly shrugged, pulling out her wallet to pay for both treatments. “You’ll come around, trust me.”

As the two teens left the kiosk, Nadia quietly observed from behind the counter. Business was picking up, and while she appreciated the steady stream of customers, it was time for her to take a break. She needed to round up her "workers" before she could head to the food court. Grabbing four small empty boxes, she approached the tubs where the men lay, weary from the constant toil.

Nadia's hands moved quickly, scooping up the tiny men who had spent the last few hours tending to the feet of her customers. There was no struggle from the men as they were gathered into the boxes. They knew this routine all too well, their resistance long since crushed. Each man filed in silently, their faces blank with exhaustion.

Once the tubs were empty, Nadia made her way to the storage cabinet behind the kiosk. With practiced efficiency, she opened the cabinet and placed the boxes inside, locking the door behind her. Four dozen men were now secured in the dark confines of their cramped prison, awaiting tomorrow's work. After her lunch break, a fresh group of men would take their place in the tubs, ready for the next wave of customers. Their only source of sustenance would be the filth and grime on the feet of the mall’s visitors.

With her workers safely stored away, Nadia paused, thinking about what to eat. The enticing aromas wafting from the food court made her stomach growl. Pizza? Korean barbecue? Or maybe a cheesesteak from that new place? The mall had so many tempting options. Locking the kiosk, she strolled toward the food court, her mind already on the satisfying meal that awaited her.