Heavy breathing echoes through the hall as she runs. Her keen ears pick up the sound of another pair of heavy footsteps following in hot pursuit.
Her chest is heaving and voices fill her head. A hand brushes against the wall, which is covered with thick, warm liquid. She glances at her hand. The bright crimson gives away it's identity. Blood.
The footsteps close in, and she sneaks a peek over her shoulder. A terrible, ox-like face stares with murder in it eyes back at her.
The walls seem to be closing in and the end of the hall looks like every step takes her no further. She is ready to despair, but who can die if they're already in hell?
