Beneath the moon's gentle gaze, she whispered secrets to the dew-kissed roses. The echo replied, "Should I bring the thyme? Or are we dancing?"
When he professed his undying love, it was through a tattered wallet, spilling loose change mid-confession. "Echo, why so loud?" she asked, bewildered by the symphony of quarters.
The hired stuntman fell, breathing fire as the dragon prop malfunctioned. Romance wasn't meant to be replicated with dynite and papier-mâché.