40k and a snippet.

I have reached 40k. Woo. In honor of this, I give you another snippet. Enjoy.

Paul’s words hung, crystal clear, in the room for three chilling seconds. Then, without warning, Anna swung around, pot still in hand, and bashed him flat in the face. Screaming wordlessly, she charged at him and Paul, reeling and stunned from the sudden blow, could only fall back further and further, arms up in a futile attempt to ward off the heavy metal pan which Anna brought down again and again, on his head, his shoulders, his back, his arms. Blood spurted from his own nose and down his chin as she slammed the pan across his face. Margaret lunged forward, shouting for Anna to stop, to get a grip, but Claire dragged her back, silent but smiling grimly, as if to say, it’s about time someone called him out on this bullshit. Rose, shaken and overwhelmed, felt herself give in to her panic, and a frightened wail poured out of her throat. She clapped both hands over her mouth and tried to take deep breaths, to shut out Anna’s banshee screams and Margaret’s cries of panic. Beside her, Josef simply stared, eyes wide. Even Pieter stopped staring at the wall and watched his sister, mouth agape. No one seemed to know what to do.

“You filthy, hateful, arrogant son of a bitch!” Anna shrieked, striking Paul across the face again and sending him toppling over the coffee table. “I torture my own, do I? Let me tell you something, Paul,” She stomped down hard on his sternum and there was a soft cracking sound. Paul yelped in pain, his eyes wide with terror, and his face bright with blood. “I didn’t do a single thing to them, to any of them, that wasn’t to protect them from our parents, protect them from the Fuhrer. I kept my own from the camps, Paul Jansen. I kept them safe.” She leaned over, a cruel, hard smile blooming over her white, stark features. “Which,” she hissed, loud enough for all to hear, “was far more than you ever did for your own, isn’t it?”