A Different Approach
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"Don't you dare lie to me, whelp!"
Cook's palm struck Anja's face with alarming force from a frail old arm. Anja reeled back, her cheek stinging hot
"I'm sorry, Cook," she whimpered, rubbing her swollen face.
"Don't insult me!" The old maid barked. "That's the third time I've caught ye pinching matches from Sir's pantry!"
"I'm sorry ma'am," Anja pleaded. "It just gets so cold at night in the-"
"I'll not hear it! If any body 'sides myself catches ye thieving, that's me hide on the line much as yours. I'll not have it yet hear? Ye'll take your due punishment and we'll speak no more of it!" Cook rapped her birch cane on the counter top.
Anja sighed and began to lower her threadbare dress, baring her shoulders for the familiar ritual of a beating. But Cook stopped her.
"Not this time! Clearly a regular whippin' ain't getting through to ye! Get up on the table, on yer knees now! It'll have to be somethin different if ye're to learn!"
Shakily, Anja crawled up onto the tabletop and and sat on her knees. Cook grabbed the hem of her skirt and flipped it back to expose the soles of Anja's cold bare feet.
Her stomach lurched at the realization. She had seen slaves punished this way before. Their screams echoed in her ears as Cook hovered her fearsome stick over Anja's vulnerable soles.
"Now hold still, child, and think on why ye deserve this!"
