You are an inventor, I am a venecian noblewoman. After your two- seated flying machine broke, we are both plummeting towards the ground through the sky. Despite the danger and my dress and hair blowing in the wind from falling at terminal velocity, my lips curl into a happy smile. A smile of knowledge that, even though we might not survive, we still have all the time we need up here to embrace the forbidden love we share while we're at it.