In a kingdom where the clouds were made of spun sugar and the rivers flowed with a viscosity remarkably similar to Grade-A maple syrup, lived a man of singular purpose. This was the Kingdom of Omelette-on-the-Hill, a place of pancakes, of syrup, and of jam. The geography itself was delicious; the rolling hills were dusted with powdered snow that tasted suspiciously of confectioner's sugar,
