Your bare feet slap loudly against the wood floor as you dart from the long room. The hallway is similarly lavish and excessive; paintings and thick expensive carpets adorn the walls and floor respectively. The light of the previous room is contrasted with the darkness of the hallway, shadows dancing as you sprint past, legs pumping furiously. Muscles aching with the familiar burn of lactic acid as your body starts relying on anaerobic respiration instead of aerobic respiration. The flesh of your feet slap hard against the hardwood floors, the sound is deafening in the large open space of the mansion. In beautiful beams of sun exposed particles.
Each shallow breath feels like a stab to your chest as it heaves, trying its best to maintain the rapidly depleting supply of oxygenated blood. Each intake and exhale is loud in your ears, the sound is almost therapeutic if it wasn't for the situation you might've enjoyed the burning of your calves, you were a footballer after all and this sprint was clearly testing whether your cardio was on par with your skills (it wasn't, you've always had an issue with cardio). A burning sensation shoots through your lungs in a painful lance that makes your breathing stutter and hitch.
You close your eyes, trying to maintain a steady rhythm of breath and failing miserably. Your arms and legs continue to pump in a desperate dash towards any room other than the room that behemoth of a women is currently occupying. All this physical exertion while simultaneously trying to count in your head so you know how much time you have left before that giant breasted girl was unleashed upon her home in order to find, and do as she pleases with, you.
Your eyes dart around, locking onto another large closed door, you throw yourself at it, hand scrabbling at the knob and hoping that it's unlocked, fingers closing around the cold metal of the bulbous knob. You push and pull until the door gives with a slow and telling creak. You twist into the gap, torquing your body quickly in order to gain access to the room. Once inside you turn, upper body moving quickly, lower body moving even quicker to catch up, before you smash your shoulder against the door, sealing yourself inside as you push the door closed.
You turn to look at the room you've entered. It appears to be some sort of servants quarters. It's a large chamber-like room lined with at least three rows of triple bunks, all steel bunks. Cheap and plentiful, mattresses hard and slab like. The strong scent of sweat permeates the air. The walls are slightly yellow and the peeling, the room is clearly the most unkept in the manor for obvious reasons.
A few maid dresses flung about the floor carelessly as if the owners knew that there was no point in tidying up there own quarters, as if they are perfectly aware that they are not the main priority in this huge place. The smell of stale air clashes with the scent of sweat, both old and your own. Each of the bunks gleam weakly in the light from the open curtains, dust trailing the air in gentle arches and spirals, as if putting on a show for you to calm your nerves.
Your internal counter (whether right or wrong) reaches sixty seconds, one minute. Your head start is over and you still haven't found a proper hiding place. Your head whips round searching, scanning, for any form of cover. At the foot of each bunk is a large trunk-like chest.
An idea sparks in your mind, I'll open all the trunks then hide at the top of one of the triple bunks. The idea forms quickly and your body moves to obey it, wanting to execute it before you're caught. You fingers move deftly, opening trunks, undoing buckles leaving some closed and some slightly open before darting up the tallest metal frame. Legs moving you powerfully through the jungle of metal bunks until you're lay at the top of one of the taller bunks.
A quadruple stacked bunk with good cover around the sides and enough height that even the guardian's towering frame couldn't see you. Her height is around eight to nine feet. A scarily large women with assets equal to her massive frame.
You lay still, pressing yourself as hard as you can into the mattress, the rough fabric uncomfortable on your skin, digging into your flesh as much as your flesh is sinking into the fabric. Each breath comes out shallower and quieter. Face planted firmly into one of the pillows in order to muffle any and all sound your mouth may or may not make, you can't be too careful when it comes to the guardians (you'd found that out with the hundreds if not thousands of deaths you've had in the first floor with the nurse guardian).
You can hear the slapping of her feet and the creaking of doors close by, not your door yet but close, real close, maybe one room down, two if you're lucky. The heavy sound of her flesh echoes grotesquely through the mansion, the strong scent of dominance slipping under the door at the far end of the room almost visibly. The scent is purple and smoke like, you can picture its strong heady scent slicking its way around the room, curling around the metal frames of the bunks, dripping into the trunks you deliberately left half open. Your decoys filling with the thick purple smoke that you have envisioned her scent taking the form of.
The sound of her breathing fills the air, exhale and inhale loud and apparent behind the large door. The knob twists slowly and the massive slab of wood creaks open fully, the object you'd struggled to open a crack was thrust open with relative ease. The guardians large body and assets fill the doorway as she scans the room. "Little mouse, I'm coming in to find you," She murmurs almost mockingly as she strides forwards, closing the door behind her with a loud echoing slam.