MINIFIC MAYHEM

The front door opened and Octavia stepped through. “Vinyl, could you help me put away the groceries?” she asked, setting down her saddle bag onto the table.

“Sure.” Vinyl’s horn glowed, and the food started to float out of the bag and onto the counter. She poked through the bag and said, “Oh, apples.” Raising one on her hoof, she opened her mouth and took a bite.

“Ugh!” Vinyl spat out the bits of fruit. “Where did you get these?!”

“The craft store,” said Octavia, frowning.

“What?” Vinyl turned to her.

“They’re wax fruit.”