One of those romances that ends with the elegant lady with a limp forever that does not dim her elegance, and her lover is just glad she is alive after she was hurled from the cliff by the dastardly mad man out to destroy everyone's joy. The lover himself bears scars, literal ones, from the duel at the top of the cliff, 'marring' his perfect features (Actually a bad ass scar) that our heroine caresses gently with love and fondness. The rest of polite society speaks of them uneasily, and rarely visits their tower by the black rise, but our couple would have it no other way. They need neither approval nor sunlight, they have each other.