Annabelle Dorne has always been fascinated by fashion.
Not just the shimmering silks, the intricate embroidery, or the luxurious fur-lined cloaks of nobility—
But the power behind them.
Because clothing isn't just fabric and thread.
It's status. It's manipulation. It's a weapon.
And Annabelle knows this better than anyone.
After all, before she transmigrated into this world, she attended a fashion academy in her past life.
She studied design, textiles, and haute couture. She learned how the right silhouette could enhance a person's presence, how certain colors could make someone seem approachable or intimidating.
She knew how to control perception through clothing.
But this world's fashion?
It's completely different.
The styles are ornate, yet restrictive. Nobles wear excessive layers, drowning themselves in heavy fabrics, oversized sleeves, and impractical accessories.
Annabelle understands it, but she doesn't respect it.
These people are blind to the true potential of fashion.
And if she wants to survive in high society, she needs to fix that.
---
That's how she ends up sneaking into the bustling trade district, disguised in plain, practical clothing—something no noble lady would ever be caught dead in.
Her golden hair is hidden beneath a worn bonnet, and her elegant posture is replaced with the casual slouch of a commoner.
Her name?
It's no longer Annabelle Dorne.
"Call me Belle Arden," she tells the first merchant she meets.
A name she crafted carefully—one that sounds simple, respectable, and forgettable.
Perfect for deception.
The marketplace is overwhelming.
Shouts fill the air as vendors haggle over prices, the scent of leather, dyes, and fresh pastries mingling together. The sound of clinking coins is everywhere.
Annabelle drinks it all in, her mind working fast.
She doesn't belong here.
And yet—
This is where the true heart of the empire beats.
The nobles may wear the crowns, but it's the merchants and craftsmen who shape their world.
Annabelle needs to understand this world if she's going to control fashion.
She starts with the tailors.
She lingers near fabric stalls, watching as skilled hands measure, cut, and stitch. She studies which dyes last longer, which fabrics are in demand, which merchants are cheating their customers with cheap imports.
She's so focused she doesn't realize she's staring too intensely—until a gruff voice interrupts her.
"You looking for work, girl?"
Annabelle blinks.
Work?
That… was not in her plan.
Before she can refuse, the tailor—an older man with calloused hands and sharp eyes—tosses her a roll of thread.
"Sort these by quality," he orders. "If you can tell the difference, you can stay and watch."
Annabelle hides a grin.
A test?
How interesting.
She runs her fingers over the threads, instinctively assessing them the way she used to back in fashion school.
Despite the differences in material, the basic principles remain the same.
Durability. Texture. Weave tightness. Color richness.
Years of working with fine fabrics have made her an expert in quality—even if this world lacks the synthetic blends she once knew.
Within minutes, she arranges them perfectly.
The tailor's lips twitch in amusement.
"Not bad," he grunts. "You've got sharp hands, kid."
And just like that—
Annabelle secures a valuable contact in the fashion industry.
---
THE GAME BEGINS
Annabelle keeps her visits brief and infrequent—never enough to arouse suspicion, but just enough to gain knowledge.
She learns about fabrics—which are durable, which are delicate, which are absurdly overpriced.
She memorizes which merchants sell the best materials and which ones cut corners.
She pays attention to gossip, discovering which noble houses favor which styles.
Most importantly—
She starts to understand the hidden power behind fashion.
These nobles are clueless.
They treat clothing as a mere luxury, instead of using it to manipulate perception.
They don't realize that with the right changes, one could transform an empire.
Annabelle smirks.
She's going to introduce real fashion to this world.
And when she does—
She'll make sure she's the one controlling it.