Chapter Fourteen:Road to Fashion Rebellion:Carriages, Capitals, and Commentary

The Vellion Estate was blanketed in an early morning mist that clung to the garden hedges like gossip at a noble tea party. Servants bustled about like enchanted wind-up dolls, tying ribbons to trunks, brushing down the sleek black horses, and whispering nervously every time one of Arila's petticoats threatened to cause a lace-based catastrophe.

Arila Vellion—formerly Shizuku, eternally allergic to mornings—stood on the steps of the manor, glaring at the carriage like it had personally insulted her. Her current outfit, a frilly pink cream-puff disaster of a dress, poofed around her in tiers of pastel lace and satin bows.

"If I trip and die again, tell the gods I blame the petticoats," she muttered.

"Noted," Lira said solemnly as she adjusted the overly dramatic bow at the back. "Though I think the dress will survive better than your dignity."

Evelaine Vellion descended the stairs with the grace of a swan gliding through moonlight. She wore a sage-green riding gown embroidered with silver vines, her hair swept up like the heroine of a tragic ballad.

"Are we ready, starlight?"

Arila looked down at her ridiculous skirt, then up at her mother. "Only emotionally. Physically, I'm 70% lace and 30% regret."

"Excellent. The perfect ratio for your first trip to the capital." Evelaine smiled, utterly unbothered.

The carriage was, naturally, a work of magical art. Floating slightly above the ground thanks to earth runes etched beneath the wheels, its polished wood gleamed in the morning light. Velvet seats, crystal-paneled windows, and an enchantment that muffled road bumps—basically the noble version of a gaming chair, minus the RGB lighting.

Arila slid in and immediately sprawled out like she was trying to merge with the seat cushions. "No cup holders. 2/10."

"I did sneak in a snack pouch," Lira whispered, slipping a wrapped mochi ball into Arila's palm like she was passing contraband.

"Bless your soul."

"You'll ruin your appetite before breakfast," Evelaine said, climbing into the seat opposite.

"It's not ruining it. It's pre-loading it," Arila replied, already chewing.

"Of course. How strategic of you."

The countryside rolled past in sweeping views of Vellantia's lush heartlands. Golden wheat fields swayed like synchronized dancers. Enchanted lakes shimmered with mana-reflecting fish. Forests stretched out in endless waves, mist curling at their roots like sleeping magic.

A slime bounced across a hill in the distance.

"Okay. Why does that look cuter than it should be?" Arila muttered.

"It will dissolve your face if you pet it," Evelaine offered gently, sipping tea from a porcelain cup that somehow hadn't spilled once.

"Noted. Death slimes: no petting."

Floating platforms carrying merchant crates zoomed by overhead. A pair of adventurers waved as their griffin mount soared above the carriage. One of them winked.

Arila recoiled. "Ugh. Did he just try to flirt while airborne?"

"Vellantian skies are full of ambition," Evelaine replied serenely.

"They're full of pick-up lines and poor decision-making."

They passed a charming inn with a moss-covered roof, surrounded by faerie lanterns. A few children played in the front yard, chasing enchanted bubbles that never popped.

Arila leaned her cheek on her fist. "Why do I feel like this world is mocking me with how aggressively magical it is?"

"Because it is," Lira chimed in, sorting a small basket of enchanted hairpins. "And you're still wearing a dress that looks like it could declare its own duchy."

"Touché."

They passed a small village with crystal lanterns and vine-draped shops. Children chased each other with enchanted leaves that whirled like boomerangs.

Evelaine glanced out fondly. "I remember my first ride to the capital. I was thirteen. Terrified. Wore a dress so wide it wouldn't fit through the door without tilting sideways."

Arila stared. "Did… did fashion try to murder you?"

"Frequently."

"I respect that. Murder by gown. The noblest of ends."

Evelaine laughed, eyes soft. "You're adjusting better than I expected."

Arila shrugged. "Might as well own it. It's either that or cry into the curtains."

"Please don't. Those are imported."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment as the road wound upward toward the ridgelines. The mountain pass opened up a view of the river delta below. Small magical ferries crisscrossed the waters, glowing softly beneath the sun.

Lira passed Arila a warm cloth to wipe the melted sugar off her hands. "And how's the noble life treating you, Lady Arila?"

"Like an overcomplicated menu at a café. Pretty, overpriced, and vaguely condescending."

"Mm. And the dress?"

"Still plotting my death."

They passed through the northern gates of Glorion by late afternoon. The capital rose before them like a kingdom from a JRPG cutscene: massive white walls laced with glowing runes, towers spiraling into the sky topped with enchanted glass, floating lanterns drifting between archways.

Flags fluttered from every spire—deep crimson with gold embroidery, the royal crest of Vellantia blazing under the sun.

Arila's jaw dropped. "Okay. Fine. It's gorgeous. I still hate corsets."

They passed through a gate watched by stone lions that blinked once as the carriage approached. The cobbled streets shimmered with soft enchantments. Noble carriages glided alongside floating gondolas. Street musicians played with glowing instruments while children tossed coins into levitating tip jars.

"It's like a dating sim threw up on a fantasy map," Arila muttered.

"I think that's a compliment?" Lira offered.

"I think it's a threat."

They passed guild halls wrapped in ivy and rune-glass. The Adventurer's Guild had sword-shaped weathervanes and a gryphon statue perched on the roof. The Merchant Guild shimmered with illusionary banners advertising rare goods.

Arila pressed her forehead to the carriage window. "Okay, I know I hate crowds and people and loud things, but this place? I could maybe tolerate this place."

Evelaine smiled gently. "Glorion has that effect. It's a city of dreams… and scandal."

"Scandal?"

"Very fashionable ones. Involving lace, mistaken identities, and dramatic fainting."

"I knew nobles were just anime characters in denial."

The noble quarter glittered with luxury. Manicured gardens stretched beside storefronts enchanted to display magical illusions. One bakery had floating cakes rotating in its window. Another dress shop had gowns modeling themselves mid-air.

They turned a corner and approached a tower-like boutique with marble steps and a sign shaped like a curling ribbon. Silk & Spire. The mannequins in the windows shimmered, their outfits shifting every few seconds. Sparkles followed one cloak like a swarm of fashionable fireflies.

Evelaine gracefully stepped out. "Try not to scare the designers."

Arila looked down at her puffball dress. "If anyone asks, I was cursed by a sentient tea cozy."

Lira hopped out next. "You'll be fine. Just smile."

"I don't do smiling. I do sarcasm."

"Then be sarcastically radiant."

Arila sighed, straightened her skirt like preparing for battle, and followed her mother up the stairs.

"Time to commit fashion treason," she whispered.

The boutique doors opened.

To be continued...