In a wood that is both more tenebrous and luminous than woods are wont to be, there is a copse where the trees huddle close together, whispering secrets each to each. There hang thick tendrils of ivy and honeysuckle, mingling their scent with the crisping night air, and the grass is soft and dewy underfoot.

The Queen of the Fairies, proud Titania, stands waiting in the moonlight.

She does not particularly like to be kept waiting.