In the end, she decided that she would use a mallet. A meat tenderizer, really, but for her purpose it was most certainly something of a war hammer. All steel, flat on one end, spiked on the other; if it was three feet longer, it might've been seen on ancient battle fields. She realized, however, that she'd never really used it before, even in food preparation. She wondered- what would the manufacturer think of her using it this way?

She hefted the thing in her hands, giving it a few spins. She swung it once, twice, to know what it felt like. Of course, she only could know what it felt like to swing and hit only air. Once she entered her room and started attacking the tiny army that infested her bed... Well. That would be something different entirely.

She tried to imagine what it would be like- to bring the mallet down on someone. They'd veritably explode, no doubt. Their skeleton would crack completely, joints burst, skin rip, blood expelled. Every thought they might have had, every memory- gone in a quick and loud splat. 
She imagined, then grabbed hold of a reference- she had crushed quite a number of them under her feet, hadn't she? She unconsciously wiggled her toes and shifted her feet, still grown sticky from the blood she splattered on them. She crinkled her nose when she realized how dirty her feet had become.

She found herself moving towards the kitchen sink and reaching for one of her dish towels. The water was turned on, and she ran the cloth beneath it, wetting it completely. Then reaching down, she wiped the gore off her feet and between her toes. Occasionally she scrape off a shed of skin or hair, remains from her rampage. The white cloth became utterly red, soaked with the blood of who knows how many.

More than she could count. 

After she finished, she tossed away the cloth into her trash bin, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to wash it. Not that she wished to remember this night, not how many lives she'd snuffed out under her toes. 

She wasn't a monster, after all. 

Or was she?

For whatever reason, the guilt had lessened to the point of a nonissue with her- certainly she felt bad for killing all of those little bugs, somehow the thought of it being justified solidified in her mind. She thought it was seeing the other tiny woman raped and murdered.

It passed on her as curious, however, that she felt guilty after her own attempted violation- those little people had been trying to enter her, through her vagina. 

That certainly qualified as rape, didn't it?

She recalled digging out someone from her womanhood. He had been whole, she knew, but when her fingers pressed him against the wall of the cavity, she had turned him to a wet red mush. She shuddered at the memory- the way the man whipped off of her fingers and onto the

floor.

So messy. She was a big girl, though, so she could make any kind of mess she wanted. 

She thought about the people she stepped on, turned to paste.

A very big girl indeed.

The Virgin began to walk towards the bedroom door where her phone and the rest of the toy people she had trapped were, mallet in hand. Was she ready for this, she wondered? She wasn't going in there in peace, that was for certain. They'd probably run from her, most assuredly. And she'd smash them all- under her hands, her knees. The mallet, under her butt, her feet.

Her feet!

Her legs stopped walking her towards the door, all of a sudden cognizant of something. She had just washed her feet. And here she was, about to enter an arena where her feet, if she were aggressive about it, would get very dirty an sticky all over again. 

She sauntered over to her apartment door again, becoming once more wary of the soft sheen of light emanating from it- the voltage that had put her on her ass. Being as careful as she could, she grabbed a pair of soft sandals from the line of shoes, among her short boots and flats. 
She couldn't have known that the footwear she chose had been the very ones that had enthralled Sigdaw, her last victim, not days past. 

She slipped the sandals on her feet, doing the straps up one by one, thinking. Who would have guessed that, when she had bought these, she'd be snuffing out life with them? She flipped her now sandal-shod foot over to look at her sole. Smooth as a dream, the sole was. No place, no groove for bones or blood or skin to get stuck inside of.

It was a very odd feeling, wearing nothing but sandals. Sure, she'd worn a bikini and sandals at the pool once or twice, but that at least covered her privates. Like this however, it felt awkward. She almost felt embarrassed. But why? No one was around. More than a hundred people had just seen her full glory naked not thirty minutes ago. 

She thought about that, wiggling her toes within the sandals. She had always loved the way she was covered but barefoot with these shoes. 

Standing up to her full height, she realized she was ready to go, and began walking over to her bedroom door, this time with hammer in hand and, more completely, sandals on feet. 

She listened to her footsteps, the only thing audible here at night. 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. 

She shivered when she thought about what her footsteps sounded like to the tiny people in the room. 

Thooom. Thooom. Thooom. Thoooom.

That had to be terrifying- a giant coming to get them, all fe fi fo and fum. A big woman, all business, a goddess. 

Yes, a goddess!

That thought had delighted her. She didn't remember much of what was said during her time in captivity, however, she did recall there being a mention of a goddess. And there, lovely and naked and wearing naught but sandals and a smile, she certainly felt like one.

Arriving and the door and setting her free hand on the knob, she took a deep breath. Was she ready to do this? Ready to take more lives?

A pang of guilt and doubt shot through her like an icy breath. What if she was wrong? What if...

No.

She made her choice. They, more importantly had made their choice, when they raped and killed that woman, one of their own. They chose when they tied her down and tried to rape her. They would pay... And if she had to dispense justice herself, so be it. 

The Virgin, her hands shaking no longer, opened the door.