Polly gasped. The Buttered Brotherhood? They existed? She had only ever heard about them in her grandma's bedtime stories when she was a little girl. They were like the tooth fairy to her, or even the boogeyman—fantastical, yet utterly impossible. She had always been a logical and reasonable child, so even though her grandma told her of many tales, including those of wheat and dairy, she never believed them to be true. Cool tales, though.

But now, in front of her, a speaking toast lay upon her floral plate.

"Impossible," she muttered.

"Nothing is impossible when you’re the chosen one," the toast said, puffing up its buttery chest. Its golden-brown crust shimmered under the kitchen lights, and its voice carried the gravitas of a knight—or at least as much gravitas as a piece of bread could muster. "Polly, you must come with me. The Dairy Kingdom needs you."

Polly stared, fork poised midair. “First of all, how are you even talking? Second, why would the Dairy Kingdom need me? I’m lactose intolerant.”

The toast gasped so dramatically that crumbs fell onto her plate. "Lactose—how utterly unfathomable! How are you cursed with such a travesty when you come from the bloodline of a buttery family?"

Polly sighed. Truly, how utterly unfathomable. "If only a handsome prince would come and release me from this curse," she lamented, eyes watering just a tiny bit for dramatic effect.

The toast shifted on the plate, its crust firm with resolve. "You jest, but the prophecies foretold of this! Only Sir Brioche, the golden champion of the Dairy Kingdom, can break the curse and restore your destiny."

“Sir Brioche?” Polly tilted her head. “Isn’t that just a fancy bread roll?”

The toast ignored the jab. "He awaits us in the Dairy Kingdom! Quickly, we must leave at once!"

Before Polly could protest, the toast leapt from the plate and onto her kitchen counter, leaving a faint butter trail in its wake. It hopped toward her open window, beckoning her with its corner. Against all better judgment, Polly followed, curiosity getting the better of her.

Their journey to the Dairy Kingdom was anything but ordinary. Polly found herself traipsing through fields of golden wheat that whispered secrets as the wind passed, then crossing streams of bubbling cream that shimmered in the sunlight. Her guide, the courageous toast (who eventually introduced himself as Sir Crispin), spoke endlessly of the grandeur of the Dairy Kingdom and the noble quest to defeat the nefarious Margarine Marauders.

At last, they arrived at a towering castle made entirely of cheese. The walls were a patchwork of cheddar and gouda, with windows of translucent Swiss. The air smelled faintly of Parmesan, and Polly wrinkled her nose, her lactose intolerance already protesting.

Inside the grand hall, seated upon a throne carved from a massive block of brie, was Sir Brioche. He was everything Sir Crispin had described: golden, fluffy, and impossibly charming. His crust shimmered with a faint sugar glaze, and his eyes (which were somehow a thing) sparkled with confidence.

Sir Brioche rose from his throne, his buttery cape flowing behind him. “Ah, Lady Polly,” he said, bowing deeply. “The prophecies spoke true. You have arrived.”

Polly’s jaw dropped. “You’re… a bread roll. I’m supposed to fall for a bread roll?”

Sir Brioche chuckled, his voice smooth as melted butter. “My lady, I am no ordinary bread roll. And you are no ordinary woman. Together, we shall restore harmony to the Dairy Kingdom and lift the curse that binds you.”

Before Polly could respond, Sir Crispin interrupted. "The Margarine Marauders grow stronger by the day. We must act quickly!" He turned to Polly, his toast corners trembling with urgency. "Lady Polly, only you can wield the Golden Butter Knife—the only weapon capable of defeating the Margarine Marauders."

Polly blinked. “The Golden Butter Knife? You’re kidding.”

Sir Brioche stepped closer, taking her hand in his warm, buttery grasp. “The knife is your birthright, Polly. With it, you can break your curse and save us all."

Polly reluctantly agreed, because what choice did she really have? The Golden Butter Knife was hidden deep within the Cheesecake Caverns, guarded by a grumpy old baguette named Monsieur Stale. Sir Brioche and Sir Crispin led the way, but Polly found herself carrying most of the weight—literally. The cavern’s floor was sticky with syrupy residue, and she had to dodge dripping dollops of whipped cream stalactites.

When they finally reached the heart of the cavern, there it was: the Golden Butter Knife, gleaming atop a pedestal of sponge cake. Monsieur Stale blocked their path, his crusty exterior radiating hostility.

“Who dares disturb my rest?” growled the baguette, crumbs falling with every word.

Polly stepped forward, her patience thinner than filo dough. “Listen, I’ve had a weird day, and I’m not in the mood for bread drama. Can we just take the knife and go?”

Monsieur Stale narrowed his eyes. “Only the true heir to the Dairy Kingdom may claim the knife. Prove your worth!”

Sir Crispin nudged her forward. "You must butter him up."

Polly rolled her eyes but obliged. “Monsieur Stale, you’re looking particularly… crispy today. And that aroma—is that a hint of garlic? Divine.”

The baguette seemed to puff up slightly. “Well, I suppose I am rather aromatic.” He stepped aside. “Very well, take the knife."

With the Golden Butter Knife in hand, Polly felt an unexpected surge of power. The blade seemed to hum in her grip, its warmth melting away her doubts. When they returned to the Dairy Kingdom, the Margarine Marauders were already at the gates, their oily leader—General Grease—leading the charge.

Polly didn’t hesitate. She brandished the knife, its golden glow illuminating the battlefield. With one swift motion, she sliced through the Marauders’ forces, their margarine forms dissolving into harmless puddles of oil. General Grease fled, his slippery figure disappearing into the horizon.

The Dairy Kingdom erupted into cheers. Sir Crispin toasted to her victory (literally, he toasted himself), and Sir Brioche knelt before her, his sugary glaze shimmering in the sunlight.

“Polly,” he said, taking her hand once more. “You have saved our kingdom. Will you stay and rule by my side?”

Polly hesitated. The thought of spending her life with a bread roll was… unconventional. But as she looked into his sparkling eyes, she realized she had grown fond of the ridiculous world she’d stumbled into. Plus, free cheese.

“Alright,” she said with a smirk. “But only if I get to keep the knife.”

And so, Polly—the lactose intolerant savior of the Dairy Kingdom—ruled alongside Sir Brioche, proving that even the most unlikely heroes can find their place in a world of wheat and dairy.