In the emerald embrace of the Fiddlehead Forest, where whispers of ancient magic still lingered, there was a secluded glen known to few. Here, under a hat grand and horned like the mushrooms that dotted the glen, lived Mycelina.
Mycelina’s days were spent tending to the mushrooms that grew from the earth like natural treasures. It was said that these was the heart of the forest itself, and Mycelina, its keeper.