I wish I had a mini farm.
Suitable for two shoes, or one large belt and a jaunty tri-corn hat, the Lancashire Miniature, or “Elfin”, was long thought mythical. The earliest sighting was in 1734, when King George I claimed to have been visited by an eerily small bovine, whose eyes shone a dazzling blue and sung a mournful dirge in a forgotten tongue. The next night, his eldest son was found dead, hoof marks in his chest. Sightings were rare until the late 1960s, when miners in Wales opened an entrance to a vast underground kingdom of cyclopic dwarves, riding astride these majestic beasts. After a brief war against King Bryffd ap Brum, lord of the Green Chamber in 1972, the Lancashire Miniature was bred and is now considered a heritage breed. The meat is known for being delicious, yet those who dare to partake claim to become blasphemously insatiable, eating their own skin, flayed from their flesh with mysterious obsidian blades which appeared suddenly in antique shops all over Britain, carved with crude faces, moaning black curses to those brave souls who listen.
cinnamon-sugar!? CINNAMON AND HER BABY CINNAMON-SUGAR
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