Not completely

You change into the tattered wenches uniform and grab your dress, you have to hold up the ruffled top, clearly designed for girls with much bigger busts, and glance back at the clean spot on the dirty floor where you soiled yourself. You don't know what you were thinking, and the risk of bearing a child for the wanton pervert who spilled his seed inside you, makes you question your sanity. "Goddess, help me, what have I done?"

Surely you didn't have to do this, you could have gone to the hostel instead. But you came down here, willingly, and now you have to accept the possible consequences. You put it all out of your mind. Nothing has happened yet, and nine months from now seems like a lifetime.

It's likely you won't survive long enough to even find out. Demons have come, they have turned many of your closest friends into writhing nymphomanics already breeding numbers to replace what they lost in the ambush, and you must remember your duty. The relic must be delivered, that is what must be done, that is what matters.

You walk on unsure legs, as surely as you can. Being careful up the steps from the cellar, before walking as briskly as possible to the stairs, passing through the tavern along the way. You feel a hand slap at your bottom firmly and instinctively make eye contact with the table of laughing men.

You ball your fist and consider striking them but the realization that your top has slid below your breasts allows you to renew your quest to reach the stairs. "Hey love, get back here, I want some milk with my cream!" You hear them bust out in laughter anew and the embarrassment of scattered eyes drives your feet to move faster up the stairs than you thought possible.

As you reach the top, you swoon out of exhaustion as your equilibrium is compromised. You take a moment to get your barrings at the top of the steps. Thomas, the swine, told you the room was at the far end, but he never said which side.

Sounds come from all angles, many all too familiarly coital. You try and focus, you see a bevy of open doors to the left, and a bevy of closed doors to your right.