She has led you to the room. There is nothing there but a knife, and a dark spot on the floor, no doubt stained by the blood of sacrifices past. There is no ceiling, you note, and so it isn't really a room so much as it is a courtyard. There's nobody but you and her there, and you wonder if perhaps she will spare you. It's almost laughable, but you decide to ask her anyway, one last grasp at your life.
"Must you do this?" you ask her. She picks up the knife, and you notice the engravings on it. Upon the blade, a depiction of a mythological scene, and embedded in the hilt, brightly colored stones.
"That depends," she says, and it seems to you that her voice is warmer than it was before, "must I?" Her answer seems almost stranger than your question. But hope is hope, right?