As you step into the ring of pale, round puffballs, each one squirts a plume of golden spores into the air. They swirl around you, obscuring your vision, only to part like a curtain a few seconds later and drift gently to the ground. You find yourself walking on a carpet of fallen leaves, among trees that stand half-robed in shades of russet and gold. Ahead of you is a little cottage, roofed over with slate and with an aged water wheel built into one side, slowly churning and splashing into the river. A warm light glints beyond the windows, and the door stands open.
A smell of warm chocolate beckons you inward as you approach, and stepping inside you find yourself in a small kitchen, hung with tinkling wind chimes and beads of glass that reflect the tapers balanced on the windowsill. The air is full of rainbows, crystal-kissed and candle-bright. In one corner stands a baking oven, and in front of it a diminutive creature is carefully extracting a tray of chocolate brownies. He stands no taller than a child, though his look is that of an old, old man. He places the tray down on a cooling rack and carefully removes his quilted oven gloves, before turning to face you. His teak-coloured skin is so wrinkled and folded that he looks like he has somehow shrunken inside it, though his eyes are huge and bright.
“Well hello!” he says, doffing a pointed hat and bowing so low that his nose almost brushes the ground. “You’re a little early for the feast, but that’s all to the good. As you can see I have my brownies, but I can’t decide what else this meal needs. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”
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