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Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been made after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she would be asked, and she had decided what she would answer, and, without the slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.

It was as if she was the Almighty Power.

Still, she did not enjoy the small smile the man presented her with as a thank-you.

The youth rose and dusted off the vaguely bright red-stained dirt from his knees, and promptly turned on his heels to face the fateful doors. He paused, and perused the anxious crowd--they all fell silent, silent to watch the man's decision. And as he drew towards the intimidating doors, he seemed to snicker to himself, deliberately without attempting to hide it and the joyous expression on his face.

You see, this man was the princess's lover. He acknowledged her semibarbaric tendencies, and he had been considering her choice as well. He had weighed the princess's heart on Osiris's own scale, considering the Feather of Truth itself, and her values against it. Only then he decided that he should modify that Feather--she had been taught from a young age that semibarbaric evils had a place somewhere intertwined in society, that they were completely acceptable at times, although the man on trial had done nothing wrong himself. In this case, the corrupted Feather balanced with the circumstances.

Now, he had reached the doors, and once again turned to face the king's royal box.

"My fair maiden," he addressed the princess, "how I love thee, and oh! what I would do for thee. But alas, I will not die for thee. You set me a path, but I will decide which I take…"

The princess's eyes grew full of terror, and she gripped the padded armrests of her chair tight. At this, the youth offered an insane laugh, and drifted towards the left door.

He gave a last wink to his lover, and took the handle of Fate's door. The youth then swung the door broadly and proudly open, while shouting, "Kiss me, my bride!"

"No!" the princess shrieked, now at the very parapet of the royal box, as the youth opened his arms wide--

--wide for the tiger that emerged to get at his neck.

The crowd cheered at the show of blood and fangs, boomed at the first bite as the tiger took off of the man his arm. He let a blood-curdling and heart-stopping scream of pain out of his throat, one that could be heard from the next land over. The semibarbaric king exploded into a hysterical laughing fit at this, all the while his daughter watched in terror. She hung over the balcony, as tears fell to the ground, as the tiger tore into her lover's flesh.

She turned away as the tiger pounced and silenced the screaming.

The ridiculous crowd was louder than the tiger's roar of triumph. Never had they seen such a gruesome and barbaric thing from the king.

The princess became ill and excused herself, the contents of her stomach more unstable with every sob and step.

When the ordeal ended, and the king exited the box, he was immediately greeted by a panting knight, the bearer of more barbaric news.

You see, he had found the princess in her quarters, her gown stained red, lips blue and eyes closed.