Your statement is solemn, but perhaps the tiniest amount of hope shines through. She hands the knife to you, and you hold it carefully. It feels like power is coursing through your veins, power you wouldn't give up for anything.
"One must die," she says quietly. She kneels on the floor and bends her head back, revealing her neck. It will be your duty now. But who knows, perhaps someone will ask you the same question you asked her, and you will respond the same way as she answered you. You know it must be done; the fate of the land depends on you. There's no point prolonging it, and you plunge the knife into her throat. Her body crumples onto the blood-stained floor. As you walk away from the corpse, you wonder if it should have been you, but the knife calls no more. Next year, when the gods desire another life and some other nameless body will be brought to you, you will ask them the same question she asked you.
the end.