On the ledge, two men with drawn swords. One with his sword raised to arm level pointing at the other. The wrinkle on the forehead and with his face forward from his neck and a heavy breathing, the frustration cannot be unseen. “Fall in love or die,” he barked, ruining for a moment the well bred moustache that ran to the side of his brittle lips painted with the pigment of rage.

“It is death then,” the second gentleman replied with a head high and a lofty voice to match. The smile curled to the corner of his cheek accompanied by...