The Lady or the Tiger (Alt Ending)

This piece, which I believe turned out extremely well, is an alternate ending to the short story "The Lady or the Tiger" by Frank Stockton. I would recommend reading the original work before continuing, especially if you haven't read it before.  The italicized text is taken directly from the story. 

"The Lady or the Tiger"

He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door on the right, and opened it.

When the two had locked eyes moments before, he watched as the princess lifted her hand and moved it, an unspoken gesture as an answer to an unspoken question, to her right, which would be his left. In the split second that he had turned his body to face the twin doors of death or delight, he considered his uncertain situation. She was leading him to open the door on the left. More importantly, did he want what lay behind it?

The princess was passionate and hot-blooded, perhaps even barbaric at times. Though this might cause other suitors to dismiss her outright, he himself had been immediately taken with her for that reason. However, her headstrong nature caused him to reflect – as time had ground to a halt in that instant (personification) – on the decision that lay before him. Did the left door lead to the lady or the tiger?

His faith in his lover’s character won the battle that raged within him for all of half a second (metaphor). He convinced himself that she was leading him in the direction of the lady, for surely she would not prefer his death over marriage to another woman? He used this as galvanization as he started toward the door on the right.

He believed that she wanted him to live, but he refused to simply accept that. If he chose the lady, he would survive, married to someone that he likely didn’t know, much less care about. Depending on the damsel’s status, he might never see his lover again – or, worse still, he might see her often. Every passing glance, every mournful expression, and every flash of her nobly fierce eyes would remind them both of the life together they were forever denied.

He had dwelt on this cruel fate for the long hours of sitting in the castle dungeons, waiting to be thrust into the arena. Neither option, death nor a miserable life, appealed to him, but in the midst of all his anxiety, a simple resolution had quelled the maelstrom of anguished thoughts and unanswered questions. One door would cause an excruciating pain that would last but a few moments; the second would inflict a dull ache on his heart that would endure for the rest of his life. Weighing the options, he was surprised with the clarity of his own answer. The lesser of the two evils, in his mind, was most certainly the tiger.

He pulled the right door open, resolute in his decision and reconciled to the consequences. In response to its contents, his eyes widened, and he took a bewildered step back.

There was no tiger behind the door.

He blinked. The darkness inside was unyielding, but the one residing within was betrayed by a short gasp of breath – more feminine than the inhalation of a wild beast, but more terrifying by far.

He felt as though the world had just been crushed into a hurricane of whirling shards, his reality falling to pieces around him. He turned and met the eyes of the princess for the second time. Everything else fell out of existence.

“My love… the left, it held the tiger… how was I to know?” The horrified whisper fell from his lips.

The princess was equally stunned, her face drained of its pallor as the trumpets sounded joyously, celebrating the union of her lover with the white-clad woman who stood inside the open door. The notes were muted and distant as her world was sapped of color. “He… wants to live. Separated,” she murmured.

A rare, lone teardrop slipped from her eye and drifted down her left cheek; she almost choked as she attempted to process his choice. “I assumed he wanted to live with me or… or not at all.” A sob was screaming to be released from her throat, but the thought of revealing that much emotion forced her to shove it back down. Her voice trembled. “Are you not so noble as I first thought?”

Unwilling to continue watching the ceremony, she stood and tore her eyes from the scene, managing to stumble through the exit behind their seats. The picture had already begun searing itself into her memory, the sorrowful gaze of her lover contrasting the bright smile of the beautiful, blond, verdant-eyed maiden next to him.

The image almost made her retch.

Gaining her footing once she exited the arena, she sprinted through the royal gardens, colliding with many of their servants on her way into the castle; she climbed the eastern staircase three steps at a time into her room, slamming and securing the door behind her. She kept her composure by clenching her fists and through sheer force of will. Blood leaked from the punctured skin of her palms as she sat on her heavily cushioned bed.

She longed to hurl the ornate clay vases out the window, shatter the spotless mirror next to her massive wardrobe, and set fire to the drapes gently blowing in the cool afternoon breeze – yet there was nothing she could do. It was tempting – oh, so tempting – to exact her revenge on someone, anyone, but the only person who was truly to blame for the horrific event was the king. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to harm her father, regardless of the fury she felt.

She remained there, second after second, minute after minute, until nearly an hour had passed and the sun was noticeably lower in the sky. She realized that the ungrateful wretch, her lover’s new wife, would no doubt be accompanying him to his home on the outskirts of the city by now.

In the middle of this silent rant, something occurred to her. A smaller, darker section of her mind presented to her an idea, one that might sate her thirst for retaliation. As she considered the plan, even though she concluded it would not be truly satisfactory, her barbaric nature began to revel in the concept.

A smile, a gleeful mask to cover her utter loathing, began to creep across her features. She knew the task fate had entrusted to her, and though it would not be easy to undertake, nothing was impossible – especially not with gold, persuasion, and a healthy dose of cloak and dagger.

“Sleep soundly, wench.”