Through Another Life

Chapter Five – Phase Two Has Needles

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It had been two weeks since I first stepped into Lina’s shop pretending I only knew how to sweep.

Two weeks of “just trimming threads.”

Two weeks of “holding fabric steady.”

Two weeks of Lina pretending not to notice that I understood garment structure better than most apprentices.

I still went only when sent on errands.

Still came back with thread, needles, or ribbon for the manor.

Still kept my head down.

But now?

Now Lina handed me small alteration jobs without watching my hands every second.

Progress.

Felicia called it “your secret second life.”

I called it “Phase One: Acquire Skills and Access Without Getting Fired.”

One evening, as Lina sorted through a pile of fabric scraps, she sighed.

“Too small. Wrong dye. The client changed her mind,” she muttered, tossing aside a bundle of pale blue silk.

My heart skipped.

She noticed.

“You want it?” she asked casually. “Can’t sell scraps like these. Waste otherwise.”

I kept my voice calm. “If you don’t need it, I could use it for practice.”

She shrugged. “Take what you can carry. Just don’t turn my trash into something ugly.”

Rude.

Fair.

I wrapped the fabric carefully, along with discarded lace edges and a strip of soft lining material.

To Lina, it was leftovers.

To me?

It was an inventory.

At night….

I sat on the floor near the small candle, fabric spread over my knees.

My fingers moved slowly at first, reacquainting themselves with ownership instead of obligation.

This wasn’t mending someone else’s life.

This was making something new.

I didn’t have dress forms.

Didn’t have proper shears.

Didn’t even have measuring tape.

So I used what I had.

Myself.

Careful pins. Folded pleats. Hand-sewn seams. Adjust, try, adjust again.

It had been so long since I’d made something that wasn’t meant to disappear into someone else’s wardrobe.

I almost forgot how it felt.

Almost.

In my old life, I designed under my label:

Maison Étoile

Structured. Elegant. Subtle.

Clothes that didn’t scream for attention — they commanded it quietly.

I couldn’t recreate full collections here.

But I could start small.

A fitted bodice using layered scraps.

Sleeves shaped to flatter movement.

Lace placed with intention, not decoration.

It wasn’t luxury.

It had potential.

The next night, Felicia dropped something into my lap while I was sewing.

A small bundle wrapped in cloth.

“What’s this?” I whispered.

She grinned. “Decorations.”

Inside were tiny glass beads, imitation pearls, and metal trinkets polished to look far more expensive than they had any right to.

“My aunt trades costume ornaments in the market,” she said proudly. “They’re fake. But if you sew them right, no one will know unless they bite them.”

I stared at her.

“You,” I said, “are a genius.”

“I know,” she said, deeply pleased with herself.

I held one of the faux pearls up to the candlelight.

Cheap.

Lightweight.

Perfect.

Because real nobility wore jewels.

Lower aristocrats wore illusions of jewels.

And I?

I knew exactly how to sell an illusion

I stitched late into the night, fingers pricked, eyes burning.

This wasn’t just sewing.

This was Phase Two.

Not just learning.

Creating.

Building pieces I could someday sell quietly through Lina’s shop.

Clothes that didn’t belong to the Rosethorne household.

Clothes that belonged to me.

Felicia watched me sometimes with sleepy eyes.

“You look different when you sew,” she murmured once.

“How?”

“Like you’re not stuck anymore.”

I didn’t answer.

Because for the first time since waking up in this world…

I wasn’t just trying to survive the story.

I was starting to write a new one — one stitch at a time.

I pressed the final seam with my fingers, smoothing the lace over the bodice. The dress shimmered faintly in the candlelight, soft folds catching shadows just right.

It’s… beautiful, I whispered. Not perfect, not Maison Étoile perfect, but mine. Every stitch carried a piece of me—my old skills, my patience, my stubbornness.

I stepped back, inspecting it from every angle. The sleeves fell gracefully, the waist hugged just right, and the lace wasn’t overdone. My heart swelled with quiet triumph.

Felicia, still half-asleep on the floor, blinked at it. “You… wow. That looks expensive.”

I grinned. “Expensive enough to impress, cheap enough to hide.”

And with that, I tucked the dress away carefully, dreaming of tomorrow.