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Desperate Writers weekly prompt “Frost”

Powdery frost covered long ebony eyelashes as she heaved a shuddering sigh, partially due to the frigid air and partially due to her inner turmoil. Slowly opening her eyes, she took in the stark white forest that she ran to gain asylum: tall bare trees reached towards the sky, as if desperate to grab any warmth from the distant sun, the stark white of the snow contrasting against the dark bark, soft snow blanketing the forest floor, dampening any sounds, and the air so cold, one could almost see it frozen in front of their face. She needed to return, this much was clear; what would happen after was uncertain. Knowing she could not prolong the suffering, she slowly made her way back , her trek silent if not for the quiet crunching of the snow beneath her soft leather shoes.
Within a half hours walk, smoke became visible through the barren branches of the sleeping trees and soon after a wooden cabin came into view in a clearing. Knowing he had heard her quiet footsteps, she knew she could not stop walking or slow down, and kept her pace as she opened the door only enough to slip in and close it behind her.
“You’ve been gone long. Have you made up your mind?” the man at table next to the fire asked. Instead of responding, she stared blankly at him. Maybe if she stayed quiet, it would go away, she hoped in vain, though knowing that would not happen and was nothing more than a fools wish.
Agitated with her lack of answer, he slowly turned his head towards her and bore a steely cold gaze into her eyes “One of you must pay this price, now decide or I will make your decision for you. You know who I will choose if I had my choice in this matter, but, I will honor your request as my wife.”
After one moment to gather her final remnants of strength she quietly answered “Me.”
“Pity. Would have rather not had to been you, but your pain will work just as well.” He stood, chair squealing against the stone floor. He grabbed a glass tipped flog he saved for times like this and walked towards her.
“Strip or I’ll punish you more for making me ruin your clothes.” She dared a quick glance at him then quickly put her trembling cold fingers to work loosening the laces of her dress, stepped out of it along with her undergarments, folded them and put them aside. Once they were neatly on the floor next to the door, she turned her back to him and shivered as she waited him to start.
Watching her tremble and shake was bringing a smile to his lips. It was proof she knew that wrong had been done and must be paid for. Turning to check to make sure the disgusting child she bore was close by and watching he turned back to her and saw her tremble in fear. He let her wait several minutes to let her fear grow.
Suddenly, with no warning, he lashed the whip at her exposed back where the glass shards tore through her skin as easily as a hot knife through butter. Blood flowed freely down her legs and splattered onto the floor as she screeched in pain and the toddler screamed in fear for his mother. More lashes landed on her skin and the deeper the wounds, the louder the screaming got and the more blood the flowed, the more he laughed, knowing that justice had been served.
“Keep screaming, girl!” he yelled joyously. “Maybe you’ll learn after this.” He kept the whip raining down on her until her legs gave out and she landed hard on her knees onto the blood splattered ground. Only until had her voice gone hoarse and she didn’t have the energy or will to stay strong anymore did he stop.
“Maybe this time your damn brat will be careful and not spill my ale again. Get up and make dinner, wench.” He spit as he turned back to the table to pick up his spilled horn and poured himself more ale and went back to watching the fire as his bloodied wife sobbed on the floor, struggling to get up and make his meal, trying to make him happy.