Sit down, my dear peasants. The queen is going to read you a story.

There once was a little boy named Bacon. He was a farmer’s son, who grew large fields of various pork meats–bacon being the majority of the crops. One day, Bacon was skipping through the beautiful red-and-white-striped fields of his father’s bacon farm, smelling the wonderful aroma that of which was bacon. But on that fateful day, he had tripped upon a bacon root and face-planted into the dirt. When the little boy got up, he realized he had better things to do than riskily skip through the bacon fields. He decided…to run into the village of Baconavia, that in which he resided, and shout some words.

“The Bacon-killers are coming!” The boy cried with all his little brains. “The Bacon-killers are coming!”

The Baconavians rushed out of their houses, crying and running for the hills, taking all the bacon they could carry. But when they realized Bacon was only jesting, they laughed and returned to their homes in peace and bacon.

That following fateful day, Bacon was taking a stroll through his mother’s bacon orchard, when he tripped on a bacon root and face-planted into the dirt. When the little boy got up, he realized he had better things to do than riskily stroll through the bacon orchard. He decided…to run into the village once again and shout some words.

“The Bacon-killers are coming!” The boy cried again. “The Bacon-killers are coming!”

The Baconavians rushed out of their homes, crying and running for the dunes, taking all the bacon they could carry. But when they realized that it was only Bacon once again, jesting, they frowned and shuffled back to their homes.

That following day after the day after that fateful day, Bacon was taking a stroll through the village’s bacon caverns, when he tripped on a bacon root and face-planted into the dirt. But…when he got up…he saw a sign, lit by an ominous glow that looked a lot like this:

And then below the sign, it read this:

Warning: Bacon Killers

The little Bacon boy ran out of the cave as fast as he could, running into Baconavia and shouting some words.

“The Bacon-killers are coming! The Bacon-killers are coming!” But the people of Baconavia didn’t rush from their houses. He stood outside, waited, trying to catch his breath. But then after three hours, he decided to knock down their doors if he had to.

He knocked on the first door. No one answered. He looked through the window. No one was there. Then he smashed the door and left a small IOU to pay for it later, and then searched through the house. He looked in the living room. No one was there. He looked in the bathroom. No one was there. He looked in the kitchen–

“Hello, Bacon,” said the Bacon-killer, sitting on the kitchen counter, chewing on a piece of bacon. Grease dripped from his lips as he said, “I’ve come to–”

Bacon screamed and ran out of the house, passed the orchard, passed the farm, passed the hills and passed the dunes, until he would never be seen again.

The Bacon-killer looked to his left, at the kind woman who gave him the piece of warm, juicy bacon. She shrugged.

“How are you supposed to send him to the circus now?” She asked. The Bacon-killer looked out the window, into the dunes.

“I’ll find him.”