Deep within the woods where light plays with shade grows a patch of hemloch, weeds, and mysteries. Several a traveller in times of ignorance walked the glade and mistakenly spiced their meat with life's remedy.
Upon the ground the fateful traveller lay his head. Before his eyes he met the fair king, his queen, all their kind. In the shadows they danced him dead. So he would gibber madly, so he had milkily seen.
Into the earth they took him and showed off their wondrous chambers of hemloch, beneath the soil. They took him into shadowed passages of a lair where creatures of the earth performed flower's toil.
The madman returning claimed it was true. He said, he shared in their work, then climbed up a vine, that lead up, back to the glade, his gossamyr bed. The mundanes laughed and thought it a new kind of wine.