Day 1704 /Night

In the middle of the tense discussion with my mother in the study, a knock interrupted us. We both held our breath, hoping it could be my father. Wordlessly, we left our chairs and moved quickly toward the door.

As my mother swung the door open, there stood my father flanked by two men, their visages etched with the marks of time.

The first man, nearly as tall as my father, had a stern face adorned with a thick, grizzled beard that spoke volumes of his age. He was dressed in a simple woolen tunic, its faded color testament to a humble life. A cap of dark wool hid most of his thinning hair, but the wrinkles on his forehead were as clear as day.

The second man was shorter, more stout, with a round belly that betrayed a love for hearty meals. His bald head shone under the moonlight's glow, and his squinting eyes were hidden behind a pair of round spectacles resting on a bulbous nose. He wore an embroidered doublet, a touch richer than the simpler attire of his companion, and held a gnarled walking stick in his hand, suggesting a life of both hard work and prosperity.

My father turned to me and my mother, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "Lilly," he began, "I've had a talk with the village council. These two distinguished gentlemen are here to try your 'mouth soap'. Let's be on our best behavior."

One of the men gave me a once-over, then crouched to my height. "Hello, kiddo," he greeted, "I'm Locke, and my friend over here is Rowe. We're pretty excited to meet the young inventor." His voice creaked with age, a hint of amusement hidden within.

"So, where's this invention, David?" Locke asked, looking at my father.

"It's in the bathroom. Follow me?" father motioned for the men to trail behind him.

I watched as Locke straightened and, alongside Rowe, walked after my father into the bathroom.

Father signaled for my mother and me to wait in the living room while they checked out my invention.

As father, Locke, and Rowe disappeared into the bathroom, I found myself straining to catch any snippet of their conversation. The bathroom was just a stone's throw away, but the walls muffled their words, turning the distinct dialogue into a vague murmur of noises.

Their voices seeped through the door in disjointed fragments, the words just out of reach, like trying to grasp at smoke.

"...minty... did she manage..."

I heard the faint chortle of Locke, a low rumble that echoed off the bathroom's stone walls.

"...never seen... like this before..."

My father's voice rose slightly, the sound waves barely reaching my ears.

"...clever... girl..."

The rest of the conversation got lost, an unintelligible murmur, as if they were speaking underwater. I could only catch the rise and fall of their voices, the occasional chuckle, and the sound of something being passed around.

The suspense was killing me. I could only hope that their fragmented praises were about my invention.

After what felt like an eternity, the bathroom door finally swung open. Father, Locke, and Rowe emerged, their faces unreadable. They joined my mother and me in the living room, filling the space with a tense silence.

Locke broke the quiet, turning to my father. "Listen, we'll handle distribution, marketing, all that's needed to take this beyond the village. In return, we'll give you a 5% cut of the profits," he declared, his voice steeped in authority.

"No! Too low, 20%!" I blurted out without thinking.

Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at me, the shock on their faces making me feel like I had just committed the worst possible crime. The room fell silent again, the tension now spiked with surprise.

Locke was the first to recover, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, if that's not a child who's never been spanked, I don't know what is."

My father raised a hand to hush me, shooting me a look that promised we'd discuss this later. He turned back to Locke and Rowe. "Alright, let's continue with the negotiation," he said, his tone steady.

"David, you have to understand," Locke began, "It's a risk for us too. We have to invest in production, marketing, distribution..."

"Easily a 95% investment on our part," Rowe chimed in. "And remember, we're taking this to the market. We have contacts that you simply don't."

"But it's my daughter's invention," my father countered, "And it's unique. It's not like you can just find another inventor around the corner."

"That may be true," Locke conceded, "But we're the ones who'll be selling it outside of the village. And that's not an easy task."

I couldn't keep quiet any longer. "But it's a scam! I made the 'mouth soap'. We deserve more than that!" I protested, my voice echoing in the tense silence that followed.

My father shot me another warning look, but I could see the worry in his eyes. He knew I was right, but he also knew we were in a tough spot. It was my invention, but without Locke and Rowe, it would never reach beyond our village.

Locke's gaze shifted from me to my mother. "Charlotte," he said, "Perhaps it's time to teach your daughter some manners."

Then he swiveled his attention back to my father. "David," he continued, his tone stern, "Why is a child her age even speaking in such matters? This is business, not a child's play."

His words hung heavy in the room, carrying with them the weight of the old world's beliefs. A world where children, especially girls, were expected to be seen and not heard. But this was my invention, my future at stake. I refused to be silenced.

I stood my ground, staring Locke in the eye. "A child 'this' age," I retorted, my voice echoing with defiance, "invented the very product you are trying to sell!"

Despite the tension in the room, I could feel a surge of pride. My invention, my 'mouth soap', was more than just a product. It was a testament to my skills, my creativity, and my determination. I wouldn't let anyone belittle it or me.

Before I could say anything else, my mother's hand clamped over my mouth. She leaned in, her voice a whispered hiss in my ear. "Lilly, enough. Be quiet now, or I'll have no choice but to discipline you right here in front of them."

Her threat hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the delicate situation we were in. I bit back my retort, my arguments dying on my tongue. But the fire in my belly was far from extinguished.

The men exchanged glances before turning their gaze back to me and my mother. It was Locke who spoke, his voice laced with annoyance.

"We've had enough of this insolence," he said, his eyes hard. "Charlotte, we demand that you discipline your daughter right here, right now."

The room went silent, the audacity of their demand hanging heavy in the air. I felt my mother's hand tighten on my shoulder, but she didn't move. It was clear that this was a line they had no right to cross.

My mother's grip on my shoulder tightened even further. With a deep breath, she stood up, pulling me with her. I found myself being guided over her lap, my feet leaving the ground. She gathered the fabric of my dress, lifting it to expose my undergarments and bare buttocks.

In the hushed silence of the room, I could hear my heartbeat echoing in my ears, drowning out the low murmurs of the men. A cold shiver ran down my spine, quickly overtaken by a surge of humiliation. This was degrading. But I bit back my protests, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The first smack landed with a jolt, the shock registering before the sting. It was followed by a second, then a third, each one a sharp burst of discomfort. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry. But with each smack, my resolve wavered, and tears welled up, threatening to spill over.

Throughout it all, my mother remained silent. Her hand was firm, the strikes unyielding. But beneath that, I sensed her hesitation, her reluctance. This was not a punishment she wanted to give. It was a punishment she was compelled to deliver. And that realization hurt far more than any physical pain.

As my mother's hand landed again, I risked a glance through the haze of tears at the men and my father. Locke and Rowe watched with a self-satisfied glint in their eyes, their features hard and unforgiving. My father, on the other hand, wore a mask of helpless frustration; his gaze flickered between me and the men, a mix of guilt and anger etched on his face.

Each smack of my mother's hand against my buttocks was accompanied by a soft whimper that escaped my lips. The sound, small and pitiful, filled the room, overpowering the crackling of the hearth and the subdued conversation. It was a raw testament to the injustice being enacted, an underscore to my humiliation.

The physical sting was nothing compared to the burning humiliation I felt, the violation of my dignity. With every smack, every whimper, I could see the men's satisfaction growing, and my resolve to stand up for myself strengthening. This wasn't right. I wouldn't let this be the end of my story.

When the final smack landed, a strange silence fell over the room. My mother gently adjusted my clothes, covering my exposed skin. Then she carefully laid me down on the ground, her touch unexpectedly tender against the lingering sting on my buttocks.

I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind buzzing. The physical discomfort was a low, throbbing ache, but it was the emotional toll that truly overwhelmed me. A hot mix of anger, humiliation, and a strange sense of betrayal bubbled within me. I had been publicly chastised for standing up for what I believed was right. The injustice of it gnawed at me, stoking the fire in my belly.

My mother turned back to the men, her voice barely a whisper. "Are you satisfied now?" she asked, her tone laced with a bitterness I had never heard before.

The men nodded, their faces impassive. They turned their attention back to my father, resuming their conversation as if nothing had happened, as if I were a mere footnote in their grand business scheme. And as I lay there, the reality of my situation sank in, hardening my resolve. This wasn't the end. It was just the beginning.

With me still on the floor, my father turned back to Locke and Rowe, his face a hard mask of carefully concealed anger. The room filled with an uneasy silence before he finally spoke.

"Now that this is done," my father said, his voice icy, "shall we continue our negotiations?"

"Indeed, David," Locke replied, a smug satisfaction creeping into his voice. "We were discussing the risk our guild is taking, were we not?"

"Indeed," my father said, his voice steady. "But let's not forget, it's my daughter's invention, not yours."

"True," Rowe conceded, "But we have the market connections and distribution means. You need us."

"And you need us," my father retorted. "Without the invention, you have nothing to distribute. It's a two-way street."

"I suppose," Locke said, stroking his chin. "Yet we still bear the lion's share of the risk."

"But without the product, there's no risk," my father argued, leaning forward with intensity.

Rowe glanced at Locke, then back at my father. "We may be willing to renegotiate the split," he offered.

"That would be fair," my father replied, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face.

"Very well," Locke said, standing up slowly. "We propose a new split - 90% for us, 10% for you."

"We accept," my father said, also rising from his seat.

"Good," Rowe said, also getting up. "We shall formalize this at the guild tomorrow."

"We'll be there," my father responded, watching as the two men left our home.

As the door closed behind Locke and Rowe, my father turned to look at me, still lying on the floor. He walked over and knelt beside me, reaching out to gently stroke my hair. His eyes, usually so stern, were soft with a mix of concern and frustration.

"Why, Lilly?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why did you antagonize them so?"

I swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. "Because it's not fair, father," I murmured, my voice shaky. "They look down on us, and they want to take everything we've worked for."

My father sighed, his hand still stroking my hair. "I know, my dear. But it's a harsh world. We must sometimes swallow our pride to survive."

Before I could respond, my mother walked over, kneeling on my other side. "Your father is right," she said softly. "But we also want to understand. Why did you think it was necessary to confront them?"

I looked between the two of them, taking a deep breath. "Because I thought... I thought if I stood up to them, maybe things would change. Maybe they would see us as equals, not just... tools to be used."

My parents shared a glance, their expressions unreadable. For a long moment, no one spoke, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

My father gently scooped me into his arms, a soft smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. "My little Lilly," he murmured, a strange mix of pride and regret in his voice. "You have the heart of a dragon."

His smile faded as he looked into my eyes, holding me a little closer. "But you must understand, my Lilly," he sighed, "as a girl, there are certain... expectations. You can't just confront men like that, especially not men of their stature."

He turned to my mother, his brows furrowing with concern. "Charlotte," he questioned, his voice filled with a quiet desperation, "didn't you teach our daughter about her place, about her rights in our country?"

My mother, met his gaze evenly, her lips pressed into a tight line. She remained silent, her eyes shifting to me, swirling with a complex mixture of emotions.

Mother's gaze softened, her hands reaching out to touch mine. "I didn't think I had to, David. She's just five," she explained, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I didn't expect her to stand up to the councilmen like that. But I will teach her, in time."

I turned to my father, my heart pounding in my chest. "Father," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, "since you agreed to this deal with the councilmen, Rowe and Locke... They don't know the recipe. I haven't told you how to make it. What if I just... don't tell them?"

For a moment, my father looked taken aback. Then his expression hardened. "Lilly," he said sternly, "you mustn't even think about that. If you refuse, I would have to... discipline you, in front of them, until you agreed. Remember, this was your idea in the first place, you must take a tad bit of responsability."

His words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. They painted a chilling picture, a form of torture that made my stomach churn. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Despite the harsh reality of our world, I had never imagined my father resorting to such drastic measures. Yet there was a grim determination in his eyes that told me he was serious.

The rest of the night unfolded quietly. Mother led me to my room, her movements as soft as a lullaby. As she prepared me for bed, she wore a pained expression, her eyes a mirror of sorrow.

"Lilly," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to apologize. I didn't want to spank you today, darling. But I had no choice."

I looked at her, my eyes brimming with confusion. "But, why?" I questioned, my voice trembling. "It hurt."

"I know, sweetheart, I know," she said, her hand gently caressing my face. "And it hurt me too. But sometimes, we must do things we don't want to, to keep peace, to survive."

"But I didn't do anything wrong, did I?" I asked, my voice small in the dimly lit room.

"No, you didn't," she replied, her voice choked with emotion. "You were brave. In fact, too brave for your own good. But in this world, my love, there are rules. Rules that aren't fair, but we must still follow."

"Will it always be like this?" I asked, a tear escaping my eye.

She paused, her eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming in through the window. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice thick with sadness. "But we can hope. Hope, and work towards a better tomorrow."

Before she blew out the candle, she leaned down, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. "Goodnight, my brave little girl," she whispered, her words a balm to my troubled heart.