Anne was lost in the wonder of the dress. It's facinating what a quality piece of clothing can do to a perfectly normal female. The right color and cut can work wonders on one's imagination, taking the dull and drab and working in pieces of magic. For instance, at this moment, Anne was dreaming about dancing at the Halloween ball, this very robe draped across her in all its splendor. Boys wanted to dance with her, girls were talking to her and gossiping behind her back, wondering when Anne Gibson had become so witty and charming. Her own Cinderella story played out in her mind, all because of this robe.

That is until an arm jostled her a bit and she blinked, her face turning a rather pink color, as if this person could read her thoughts. Anne watched with wide blue eyes, wincing the slightest bit at the girl's comments. She... she couldn't be doing it on purpose, could she? Saying things like that? The blonde tugged self-consciously on her short sweater, trying her best to hide the thinness and the stretched wool.

She blinked at the introduction, casting her eyes downward and shifting a bit. "Anne Gibson." She said quietly, not taking her eyes off her shoes. This was embarrassing. And she couldn't hide it.