Chapter Twelve
“Can you talk?” Mylee inquires in a smooth and enticing voice.
“Yeth, Mith Mylee,” comes the lisping reply, David’s tongue searching for the missing incisors that regulate speech, not quite learning to adapt to his dental modification.
“Ughhh,” comes another utterance of pain as Mylee once again tightens David’s foot bindings.
The small broken bones will heal, but not as before.
“Just a little tighter every day, David. I want to assure that your feet appear short and dainty just like the presentation my ancestors preferred to bestow on young girls. They found the effect to be quite appealing, though it left the girl with a lifetime of difficulty in terms of walking. Those broken bones will heal but will leave your feet curled, a little like making a fist with your hand.
