She calls to you. She always has. She is beautiful and unreachable and you stare at her until your eyes burn, until you see her face seared on your eyelids every time you blink. Everyone loves her, but not like you do. No one can love her like you do.
She doesn't notice you. She is too far above you. She is your world, but you are just part of the scenery of hers. You will make her notice you. You will make her love you.
You are as smart as she is beautiful, and if you cannot find a way to reach her, you will create one. Her gentle glow is replaced by the blinding lights of your lab and the darkness of your empty bedroom, but you know that her absence is only temporary. Soon she will never leave you again.
Finally it is finished, and you do not forget to glue your mask to your face before you leave. You are in love with a god, and the gods do not love broken mortals.
You do not scream when you jump off the cliff.
It works! Your wings catch you and you are flying, chasing the woman that you love. Soon you will overtake her, and then you can be together forever.
She is not so gentle now. Up close, she is a fire, blistering the skin on your back, scorching the porcelain of your mask until you shriek and tear it away. It slips through your fingers and falls down, down, down to the sea, and now she can see you, every ugly bit of you, but she will love you anyway. She has to.
You can feel the wax of your wings melting, dripping down your body like blood, and you turn your face to the sky, letting the wind snatch the laughter from your throat and the tears from your eyes. You can almost touch her.
You are free and you are free-falling.