Carl Jung and Marie Antoinette are stuck in Stranded in the Arctic in a Crashed Plane and forced to have a deep conversation.

"Madame Antoinette, this icy wasteland mirrors the desolate landscape of the unconscious," Jung began, adjusting his spectacles against the blinding snow.

"Unconscious? My dear man, I was always painfully aware of my circumstances, even if I did try to ignore them!" Antoinette retorted, shivering in her tattered silk dress.

"But the collective unconscious, Madame, holds the archetypes, the shared experiences of humanity, even regicide, perhaps foreshadowing this frozen predicament."

"Archetypes? Were my diamond necklaces an archetype of extravagance then? A symbol, I suppose, easily vilified."

"Indeed, symbols are powerful, Madame, and your gilded cage, though opulent, ultimately became a trap, reflecting the shadow self of the monarchy."

"So, you believe I am responsible for this dreadful predicament, not just this crash, but the entire revolution?" Antoinette asked, her voice laced with a fragile defiance.

"Responsibility lies with the collective, Madame, but the individual plays a crucial role in recognizing and integrating the shadow within." Jung countered, packing snow around a makeshift fire.

"Integration? I was integrated into the earth, quite forcefully, I might add. What use is your philosophy now, when the cold bites so deeply?"

"It's about understanding the 'why', Madame, finding meaning even in the face of annihilation, a quest for individuation even in the Arctic." Jung replied, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"Perhaps," Antoinette sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. "Perhaps this frozen hell is my final, and most brutal, lesson in humility."