LISA
Wherever I am, it's huge.
We've taken at least three or four turns, and I've already forgotten how to get back. Was it left first, or right? The last turn was to our right. Wait… was it?
Shit.
Every time I lag behind, trying to map this place in my head—which is little better than a toddler's scribbling at this point, with my confusion over lefts and rights—the tiny woman turns and scolds me, telling me to pick up my feet.
Before, I would have given her some sort of smartass comment and maybe even slowed down.
But now, my body feels cold sweat at the idea of making her angry. Even if I'm a prisoner, at least I'm a clean and comfortable prisoner here. I don't want to go back to the previous standard of kidnapping.
So I shut my mouth and hurry behind, wondering how she can be so freaking fast with such tiny legs. She's probably the size of a kindergartener, but faster than a full-grown adult.
