Every time Princess Rosebud took a drag through the purple haze of liquid swirls, caressing tendrils of death kissed her slender neck. Alone, as she swayed in the deep liquor of the water meadows, she longed for one glimpse of her Moonbeam Flower–a wish which remained unfulfilled. Somewhere nearby, in the darkest verdant folds of the forest’s canopied aisle, a porcelain flag guarded the wrinkled satiny silk of a senile pond. One night, sweet smells of nectar drifted from a dying Rose moon, and the Moonbeam Flower knew what had happened. Her fading essence was all he had for comfort–for his nightshade heart. Moonbeams cascaded on his papyrus petals, and bathed him in an aura of lilac mist–exalting his grief. The Moonshine pond watched it all with a heavy heart, and his senile soul understood that which no one else did. What saved one, killed the other.