Dress disintegrating!

The orchestra struck up a waltz, and Maggie's hand was claimed by a suitor. Since she inherited her father's fortune they were a dime a dozen. As they twirled around the room, she felt the eyes of the crowd upon her. It was as if they could see through her clothes, could see the scandal that had been painted across the city. And then, it happened.

Her dress began to disintegrate before her very eyes. Panic set in as the fabric grew thinner, the once-vibrant colors bleaching to a sickly white before crumbling away like ash. She looked down in horror as her chemise and petticoat began to follow suit. The room around her spun, the music a distant cacophony as the realization dawned—it was an acid, a vile concoction that her aunt had used to humiliate her.

Thinking quickly, Maggie spotted the punch bowl on a nearby table. Her only hope was to neutralize the acid before it claimed the rest of her clothing. With a swift move that belied the situation, she yanked her partner closer and steered them towards the refreshments. As they approached, she feigned a clumsy stumble, knocking the bowl over and into her dress.

The liquid spilled over her, soaking her from neck to waist. The acid's destruction was immediate, sizzling as it met the fabric. Her corset, however, remained untouched. The coldness of the punch was a stark contrast to the heat of the steam, leaving her shivering in her undergarments.

The room gasped collectively as the last of the fabric dissolved, leaving her in nothing but her bloomers, corset, and the now-soaked lace of her chemise. Her breasts, though contained, were visible through the dampened fabric, her nipples pebbled from the cold. The suitor, stunned, stepped away, leaving her to stand alone, a beacon of embarrassment in the center of the dance floor.

The room was a tableau of shock and scandalized whispers. Maggie's face burned with humiliation, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she straightened her posture, her chin held high. "I'm afraid I've had an unfortunate accident," she announced, her voice carrying over the hushed murmurs. "Could someone be so kind as to fetch me a shawl?"

The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable. But Maggie Brass had never been one to back down from a challenge. She would not let a little wardrobe malfunction, no matter how public, stand in her way. She would find a way to outsmart her aunt, to recover her stolen invention, and to claim her rightful place in the world of steam and cogs. The battle lines had been drawn, and the war for her legacy was just beginning.