"Death!" Kate boasts with a self-satisfied smile.
 
You freeze. Surely, this must be some kind of joke, right? One of those kinky things that doms say. But despite all this reassurance, on the scale of lust to fear, your dial firmly stands on the latter.
 
Beads of sweat begin building up on your forehead as Kate reaches down and pinches you between her fingers, holding you like a piece of lint — having to consciously stop herself from just grinding you into a tiny red ball. No, that would be way too good for you.
 
Landing on a hardwood floor, the pain makes it difficult for you to stand up. When you are finally brought to your feet, you can see the sole of your sister's sneaker looming above you. Its rubber was once white but has greyed with time and wear. Now, it is casting an overpowering gloom over you, basking you in darkness. 
 
You try to run, limping away from the shadow. You can feel the muscles of your legs and lungs aching, but your survival instincts are stronger than any pain.
 
The little relief you feel about having dodged the first assault is immediately broken by the ear-piercing sound and the gust of wind forcing you to your knees. Looking up while trying to ignore the ringing in your ears,  you can see your sister raising her foot again, determined to squish you with the same zest one gives to taking our trash.
 
"Fucking psycho bitch!" Using the little air remaining in your tired lungs, you curse Kate one last time. Even if they cared, nobody (not even yourself) heard you over the sound of the rubbery sole slamming the ground yet again. 
 
Your bruised and broken body is flattened against the treads—your legs turned into bloody stumps. As life fades from your body, you can hear the loud moans of your sister from above. Each twist of her ankle excites her more, with your suffering bringing her immense pleasure.
 
Soon, you are nothing but a smear on the floor. With time, even that smear disappears.