Our TG Caption

Bertha Dreessen admired her reflection, indulgently adjusting the glossy waves of her auburn ponytail in the smudged control room panel. Her long legs, accented by knee-high boots that whispered power with every authoritative click, carried her effortlessly beneath the sterile lights. Beneath the suffocating company-issued lab coat—mandated for "professionalism," whatever that meant—hid a sleek, charcoal dress barely brushing mid-thigh. Just enough tease, just enough distraction to keep clients off balance. Professionalism was the refuge of those who couldn’t command attention through beauty alone, and at twenty-eight, Bertha had long mastered that art.

A chime echoed through the lobby. Bertha adjusted the coat to expose a careful sliver of skin at the neckline, then strode confidently to greet the newcomers.

"Welcome to *The Changegrounds: Free Trial*," she cooed, voice syrupy and bright.

She immediately assessed the pair: Dennis, a stout, nervous type—harmless and plainly indifferent to her practiced charms—and his wife, Nicolle. Her smile almost faltered at the sight. Nicolle was a collision of catastrophic fashion choices: sandy blonde hair bound in a disastrous bun, flamingo earrings dangling absurdly, leopard-print leggings clashing violently with a lavender sweater. And those lime-green clogs—atrocious.

“Oh my gosh, this place is *adorable!*” Nicolle exclaimed, oblivious to her host’s disdain. Dennis hovered awkwardly nearby, his expression resigned.

Bertha offered a perfunctory smile. “Follow me, please.”

She led them down a narrow corridor into the Alteration Room, closing the door with a discreet hiss. Dennis shifted nervously while Nicolle chattered on about friends and recommendations. Bertha turned her attention to the ancient monitor, pulling up Nicolle’s file: married to Dennis eighteen years, mother to a seventeen-year-old named Judy, mid-level office administrator. All dreadfully mundane.

“Alright,” Bertha began, leaning against the control panel with calculated charm. “Your trial includes ten transformations—physical, mental, whatever you desire. Anything in mind for Nicolle today?”

Dennis hesitated, cheeks flushing faintly. “Well, honestly, she’s... fine the way she is…”

Bertha tilted her head, expression politely disbelieving. She could handle most anything—but Nicolle’s current aesthetic demanded urgent intervention.

“Let’s start simple,” she suggested breezily, ignoring Dennis’s indecision as she began keying in a new reality. “Something more refined. Elegant, even.”

Dennis blinked nervously. “Like...?”

“Trust me,” Bertha said smoothly, activating the alteration. “You’ll like this.”

The chamber shuddered softly, a faint ripple enveloping Nicolle. When it passed, Nicolle stood transformed, utterly unaware of the exquisite metamorphosis.

Gone was the garish mess. Nicolle now radiated sophistication, her appearance meticulously tailored into the polished epitome of an upscale socialite. Her hair had darkened into sleek, honeyed waves, swept into an impeccable chignon with tasteful diamond pins twinkling subtly. Her spray-tan had given way to naturally luminous skin, flawless beneath subtle makeup. The leopard leggings and offensive sweater were replaced by a shimmering midnight-blue gown, exquisitely tailored, cascading gracefully to her ankles with a slit artfully positioned to reveal tasteful designer heels. Her flamingo earrings vanished, supplanted by understated diamond drops, and her jangly bracelets turned sleek, minimal, and elegant.

Memories shifted seamlessly to match. Nicolle had always been impeccably stylish—a beacon of refinement at every gala, every dinner party. Judy’s mother was no longer an embarrassment, but an enviable socialite whose taste set trends. Friends, colleagues, even Judy herself would have no recollection of the crass former version. For them, Nicolle had forever been poised, cultured, and immaculately put together.

Yet Nicolle noticed nothing. Adjusting the diamond bracelet at her wrist as if it had always been there, she glanced curiously at Bertha. “How long does this whole thing take?”

Dennis stared, mouth agape, visibly stunned. “She—she’s completely changed.”

Bertha leaned closer, her coat strategically slipping open. “And perfectly unaware,” she whispered conspiratorially. “As far as she knows, she's always been this sophisticated. Take her home now, and everyone else remembers the same.” She arched an eyebrow slyly. “Except you, of course.”

Dennis gulped, clearly unsettled, but unable to look away from the woman he married—a woman suddenly elevated far beyond anything he’d imagined.

Bertha smirked, feeling a warm satisfaction. This, after all, was professionalism done right.