The painter chap, nice fellow he was, took him to some sanitorium afterward. They found him raving with a fever, so’s the tale, speaking of the old king and a missing crown. Of course, he had heard the legends, and that must ‘av colored his mind some when it finally broke. Long hours he worked, and when he wasn’t working, he was traipsing through them hills hoping for another glance of the Isle. He needed a rest, he did, but what do artists know? No wonder he went mad, trying to see what’s hid from man’s eyes. Can’t be done.
https://taletold.wordpress.com/short-stories/the-floating-isle-of-lolth/
Tale Told 