'The Lady or the Tiger?'

 

She knew that had he lived, the jealousy would send her to her deathbed. . .

A deafening roar of silence filled the arena as the youth strode confidently across the empty space. Sand crunched beneath his feet. He trembled; his skin was slick with sweat. Did no one see? Or did the sun foil her eyes? She shook inwardly with dreaded anticipation.

His hand went to the latch.

Tension hung in the air, thick enough to be cut with a blade.

A blade as sharp as the glistening claws and dripping fangs of the male Siberian tiger that waited, poised to spring, vying for freedom and flesh to satisfy its raging hunger. . .

He paused for a moment, wavering. Not so much as an infant dared make a sound. Heads craned forward on straining necks to gain a better view of the upcoming execution or wedding.

Someone coughed. His eyes flickered once more in the direction of the princess. His lover.

The woman he loved. . .

He opened the heavy door, made of the strongest wood and bolted with the finest steel. A full grown man could lie down infront of it, and still not spread his body across its full width, and its height surpassed that of three men. A thin, dark line appeared between the door leading to his death and the stone wall of the arena. The door creaked, and the line became wider.

Creaked. Like the creaking of his bones as they were crushed between those jaws. Those jaws that killed her lover. Hers. Those bones that once belonged to her. And whose breaking she caused. . .

The knuckles of her hand turned white as she clutched the parapet before her. A strange gleam came into her eyes.

One of excitement. And horror. Love. Lust for one last time, one last kiss from those lips that parted in shock. How can so many emotions exist at once in a heart so cold, a heart of stone? A rock lay in her breast, then and now. Nothing more. She did not live. She breathed, but her heart did not beat.

He turned. And ran. To the center of the stage, for all to see. The terror on his handsome face was unmistakable, and the human reaction to danger and fear of death had overtaken him. A strong wind, perhaps summoned by the gods of that time on that hot day, came and blew fiercely at the open door, revealing the dark chasm inside.

A door of death.

The waiting audience let out a horrified gasp. Yellow eyes appeared in the darkness, and a blur of orange and black sped out into the sun, adjusting to the change as it ran with fast, sure steps.

It was gaining, gaining. . .

In a split second he was down, but without a merciful, killing blow to the head. The breaking of his spine was lost in the cries of pain.

That awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!

Jealousy does strange things to a person's mind. It is often a small thing, but it can change one from sane to a condition less than so. The barbarianism in her blood, the jealousy in her heart. . .

A heart of stone. . .

. . .and the pride in her bones had left her estranged. She looked forward, unblinking, as the sand became stained with his crimson blood. A deafness to all but those screams of pain, agony, had come over her. Or perhaps all were silent. As a sign of respect. She pulled her ever-faithful head down as across the sand the tiger dragged him, bones snapping.

Respect?

Faithful?

The blood bubbled from a gaping wound in his chest. Was that his heart? Thumping, slowly. Beating its last.

She no longer had a heart that beat.

The powerful jaws of the tiger - that magnificent, beautiful creature; curse it! - closed down on his throat, ceasing all cries.

He was beautiful, her lover. So beautiful. Curling golden hair, and a form that made her the most envied woman in the kingdom. But the mangled body on the floor was not a courtier, a lover, or a man. It was a starving predator's feast.

She, also, was nothing.

Bloody and battered, his head lifted. His eyes, his clear blue ocean eyes framed with golden lashes had been untouched, and were raised to her face. The final moment stretched for eternity, an eternity where she could not break that contact despite how desperately she wanted to look away. It continued. His heartbeat filled her ears. Not his moans, the gasps of the crowd, or the triumphant roar of the tiger that chilled all other to the soul.

Thump, thump, thump. . . thump. . .

. . . thump. . .

Blood dribbled down the side of his slack mouth, and slowly his eyes closed.

It was over. The mourners on the edge of the arena began to wail. The crowd slowly filed out, having witnessed the horrors of guilty crime. They would forget soon. But she would never forget.

Never. . .

And suddenly he opened his eyes. Wide, open, staring, accusing.

The princess woke up, screaming. Every night, the same. Every night, his face as he looked at her for the last time. And those eyes. . .

And she no longer lived.

A/N: This story is an ending to the original by Frank Stockton. Look for it on the web if further understand is needed. I do not own the original plotline, merely the ending which is left up to the readers.

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