Piano falls on a non-player character

Enter, stage right, Philip, a youth of Verona. He is gaily dressed, yet his features are morose. Philip: Oh, but woe is my lot, for fair Hilda has made mock of me under the stars. Cursed stars, they bring doom with their light, shining from on high as unpiteous seraphs. Enter, stage left, Petruccio, an old man. His face is flushed and his eyes betray mischief. Petruccio: What wailing is this? What ho? Do the youth of the city have naught to do on such a clear evening but weep and pine? Philip: Oh, gentle sir, do not mock my state, for Fate has never dealt me so poor a hand as she has this night. I am at my wit's end! Petruccio: Your misfortunes are but a bee's a sting before the goring of a bull. Those stars at which you hurl your accusations do foretell great ill, but not for you. A piano falls from the ceiling, lands amidst the audience, and a man in the second row is crushed to death. Its strings twang sadly amidst its splintered wood. End Scene