The room is dark.  Dim candles flicker on the walls, on the pillars, and on the floors, giving off an erie glow.  The smoke is think and sweet, and makes me light headed.  There are rugs all around.  Yes, and pillows, soft and comfortable.  The rhythmic beat of exotic music drifts through the air, relaxing and mesmerizing. 

The smoke curls around me, and weaves to and fro in the midst of half clothed dancers.  They dance, dance to the beat, dance to the smoke, dance to the candles.  They dance.  Flickering shadows surround me.  I am walking, but I feel like I am floating.  Brilliant hues, I see them all, and I seek their refuge.  There is a dias.  It is covered in vibrantly dyed cloth.  I think it is cloth, it moves.  There is... a hand.

I step forward, the beckoning hand, I must take it.  There are whispers all around me.  The smoke speaks to me, it promises paradise, it promises bliss.  I want to stay in the smoke.  It smells so sweet, it makes me feel so happy.  The hand, it holds something, a bowl.  It is filled with something.  Drink it, the smoke whispers.  Drink it the hand gestures.  Drink it, the smiling face on the dias commands.  I drink.  Strong.  Warm.  The world melts away.  The smoke embraces me, and I feel no more.