The loud sound of the huge door handle turning, the door being pushed open. Light streamed in from the porch. A pair of huge feet, wearing exquisite high-heeled shoes, stepped inside. The heel of the shoes struck the wooden floor, making a dull "thud, thud" sound. The camera rapidly lowered, getting close to the floor. From the perspective of the floor, those shoes looked like two moving skyscrapers. The heel left slight scratches on the floor.
MARTINA casually threw her designer handbag onto the sofa, making a dull "bang" sound. She stretched out her arms, and the bones made a slight "clicking" sound.
She muttered to herself, her voice echoing like thunder in the room.
Finally back. This damned traffic can drive a person crazy.

She turned around, preparing to head to the kitchen. Suddenly, her movement froze. Her sharp eyes narrowed, and her gaze fixed on the shiny, mirror-like dark wooden floor, where a tiny point was moving. In terror, it was trying to hide behind a tiny speck of dust, but it moved too slowly.
The sound suddenly turned cold and filled with disgust. ...... What is this?

She slowly, extremely slowly, bent down, her huge figure covering the floor. Her shadow swallowed the dwarf. She moved closer, her eyes scrutinizing him like a searchlight.
A gasp, followed by an unhidden disgust.
A... bug? No... Her voice carried a sickening sense of discovery of filth. A person? A... so small, so dirty... thing
He froze in place, looking up at the huge face that seemed to hang in the sky. The breath formed a hot wind, almost bl*wing him over.
Straightening up, she crossed her arms, her voice loud and oppressive.
Hey! You! That scum on the ground! You can see me, right? Can hear me, right
A faint, almost inaudible squeaky voice, filled with desperation.
Please... please... I'm just lost...
He didn't quite catch it, or didn't care. She chuckled, the laughter booming in the room.
Lost? Ha! How easy to say. Do you know where this is? This is my home! My living room! Every inch of the floor is worth your kind of life for one of those things
She began to walk, her high heels making heavy "thud, thud" sounds on the floor. Each step made him feel the floor tremble, as if it were an earthquake. He staggered, unable to stand still.
How did you get in? Through the cr*ck in the door? Through the ventilation opening? Or like a cockroach, climbing up the pipe? She suddenly stopped, her gaze like... I see. It came from that stinking ditch outside, right? Only there would breed you such... such lowly, dirty, unworthy existence! No... not that... I came from the garden...
Shut up! I don't need your excuses! Your existence is pollution! Look at you! She used her toe - the pointed tip of the shoe was like a smooth cliff - gently nudged him. He was thrown off balance, helplessly rolling on the smooth floor. Your stench, even a l*ttle bit, tarnishes my air! Your rags are covered with sewer sludge and rotten smell.

How dare... How dare you, with your dirty, gutter-like l*ttle feet, step on my floor? Do you know what kind of wood this floor is? You don't even deserve to be its insect
Her patience seemed to run out. She lifted her right foot, the huge foot in the expensive high heels, hovering right above it. The shadow c*mpletely covered him, the fear of ch*ked his throat.
The voice was low and each word like an ice pick.
You such a worm crawling out of the stinking ditch, how dare... how dare you crawl into my living room? Who gave you the nerve? Huh?

My home must be kept absolutely clean. And you... must be the stain that is to be removed.

Her right foot began to lower. The sole of the high-heeled shoes, with its intricate patterns, was like a terrifying mountainous ravine to her, crushing down mercilessly. **

As her foot touched the ground, words squeezed out from between her teeth.
Disappear. Filth.

There was a very faint, almost imperceptible thud. The sound was tiny, but in the silent living room, it was exceptionally clear to their ears.

Her foot firmly planted on the floor, then with, she rolled it back and forth. The movement was practiced yet casual, as if crushing a cigarette butt.

The heel of the high-heeled shoe gently turned on the floor, creating friction.

A moment of silence.
Slowly lifting her foot. She looked down at the sole of her shoe and then at the floor. The spot where she had been standing, was now just a tiny, barely visible, slightly damp mark, which quickly vanished on the smooth wooden floor.

She exhaled contentedly, her expression returning to calmness, even with a hint of relief after completing a trivial task.

Disgusting.

She walked over to the side, picked up a delicate wet cloth from the coffee table, and carefully wiped the sole of her shoe, especially the area near the heel. Then, she rolled the wet cloth into a b*ll and precisely threw it into the distant trash can. This looks decent.

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