"You certainly aren't the only one." Hannibal commiserated. "I don't know if anybody who was in there is capable of coming out feeling anything less. The question as to why we were in there is an easy enough one to answer, but there's no real meaning behind it, is there? The other things one might wonder about also make it difficult to reconcile. Such as how did we get there? Why did we get released so suddenly?"
He shook his head. Unanswerable questions irked him. And there was no way to get the answers that he knew of.
Hannibal turned toward the flower to sketch it. "Datura stramonium." He said, as he put the pencil to the paper. "Every part of this plant is toxic in some manner. Some of it can be diluted to be used in potions according to ancient witchcraft recipes. It can also be used as a hallucinogenic. Or to kill. It blooms only at night, which is also when it's scent is at the strongest. The effects of poisoning include hyperthermia, tachycardia, violent behavior, photophobia and even amnesia. If the patient survives."
He smiled into the sketch.
"You don't look so good yourself, Lestat. Perhaps you should come in for a checkup."