In the bustling heart of Enbarr’s culinary district, nestled between rows of vibrant market stalls and grandiose eateries, stood a quaint little restaurant known as "Arnault’s Table." It was here that Dorothea Arnault took her first breaths of life, surrounded by the warm embrace of flour-dusted air and the sweet symphony of sizzling meats and simmering sauces. Her mother, a chef of unparalleled skill, cradled her newborn daughter with pride as her husband looked on with hope in his eyes—hope that their child would one day carry on their legacy amidst the cutthroat competition of Fódlan’s food scene.

The Arnaults were no strangers to hard work; their restaurant was their life’s blood—a bastion of culinary artistry in an ever-evolving landscape of nobility-backed establishments that threatened to overshadow their humble abode of flavor. Yet within those walls, Dorothea grew up in an environment that celebrated food as more than just sustenance—it was an expression of love, a bridge between cultures, and a source of power that could both unite and divide.

One fateful evening, as Dorothea sat in her high chair watching her mother prepare dessert for an upcoming feast, she was offered her first taste of something truly extraordinary—a delicate pastry infused with an enchantment that filled her tiny belly with warmth and satisfaction beyond measure. Her mother’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she whispered, "Remember, Doro, food is more than just what fills your belly—it’s what feeds your soul." The sugary concoction danced on her tongue like notes of an unheard melody, leaving her craving more of its magical embrace.

The kitchen was Dorothea’s playground—a place of wonder where she could explore her mother’s secret ingredients and watch as simple dough was transformed into edible masterpieces that brought joy to their patrons’ faces. Her mother’s gentle guidance taught her to appreciate each flavor profile, each texture, as if they were notes in an intricate sonnet of sustenance. The scent of freshly baked bread wove through her memories like threads of gold in an elaborate tapestry of taste.

As Dorothea grew older, she began to understand that their restaurant was more than just their family’s pride—it was their battleground against adversity. Her parents’ love for food was matched only by their determination to keep their doors open in the face of overwhelming competition from wealthier rivals. Yet amidst their struggles, they never lost sight of their mission to share their culinary gifts with those less fortunate—a value that would shape Dorothea’s own relationship with food in ways she could never have imagined.

The market square of Enbarr was ablaze with excitement as townsfolk gathered for the annual Eating Extravaganza—a competition that drew contestants from all walks of life to showcase their gluttonous prowess. Dorothea Arnault, now ten years old with an insatiable curiosity for food’s mysteries, begged her mother to let her participate in this year’s festivities. With hesitation in her eyes yet knowing her daughter’s spirit could not be contained, she agreed—unaware of the spectacle that was to unfold.

The day of the competition dawned bright and early, with stalls groaning under the weight of mouthwatering delicacies from across Fódlan. The air was thick with anticipation as contestants took their places at long wooden tables laden with plates of food that seemed to stretch on forever. Dorothea’s heart raced as she surveyed her competition—burly men with bellies that could double as armor plating and seasoned eaters with jaws that could unhinge like serpents’ maws. Yet she remained unfazed; her mother’s words echoed in her mind: "Food is what feeds your soul."

The contest began with a flourish as the town crier announced each dish with gusto—savory meats, creamy pastas, sugared fruits that gleamed like jewels in the sunlight. Dorothea’s slender hands moved with surprising dexterity as she devoured plate after plate without pause—each bite seemingly fueling her rather than filling her up. The crowd watched in amazement as she kept pace with her larger opponents without breaking a sweat or losing her poise. Her mother’s secret ingredient—a dash of Indulgent Faith magic—was already at work within her, though she was too young to understand its full implications.

As the competition grew fiercer, so too did Dorothea’s appetite—an appetite that seemed to defy all natural laws as she consumed more than any other contestant without gaining an ounce of weight. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she reached for each new dish, savoring every morsel with an elegance that belied her age. The sound of her silverware against porcelain was like music to her ears—a symphony of satisfaction that grew louder with each victory she claimed over her food-laden foes.

It was during this feast that Dorothea first caught the eye of Manuela Casagranda—a woman of refined tastes with an air of mystery that hung around her like an invisible cloak of power. Manuela’s gaze was sharp as she observed Dorothea’s performance from her VIP seat atop the viewing platform—a gaze that seemed to pierce through to her very soul. As Dorothea emerged victorious from the final round, Manuela descended from her perch with an enigmatic smile playing on her lips. She approached Dorothea with an offer that would change her life forever: "You have quite an appetite for such a delicate creature," she said with an arched brow. "Would you like to learn how to harness that power?"

Dorothea looked up at her newfound mentor with wide eyes filled with wonder—and just a hint of trepidation at what lay ahead in this world of gluttonous enchantment. Yet she knew that she could not resist the allure of food’s magical embrace—a path that would lead her to become one of Fódlan’s most feared yet revered eating enchantresses. With her mother’s proud nod of approval, she took Manuela’s hand and stepped into her destiny—a destiny that would see her feasting talents take her far beyond the confines of Enbarr’s market square to the grand stages of Fódlan’s feasting society.

Dorothea’s heart raced as she followed Manuela Casagranda through the winding streets of Enbarr’s upper city to her luxurious townhouse—a place that seemed to exist in another world compared to her family’s modest restaurant. The cobblestone pathways gave way to marble steps that led to grand double doors adorned with intricate carvings of fruit and livestock—a testament to Manuela’s status as an esteemed food critic with ties to Fódlan’s elite gluttonous circles.

Upon entering, Dorothea was greeted with an opulence she had never before seen—chandeliers dripped with crystallized sugar that cast rainbows of light across the gleaming floors, while tapestries depicted feasts of legendary proportions that seemed to come alive with each step she took. The scent of exotic spices mingled with that of fine wines—an olfactory symphony that sang of wealth and excess. It was here that Manuela introduced her to the House of Gorge—a secret society dedicated to exploring food’s darker side: weight gain mastery through gluttonous feasts.

The evening’s festivities began with an extravagant banquet laid out before her—a veritable smorgasbord of dishes that seemed to have been plucked from Dorothea’s wildest dreams. Her eyes widened as she took in the spread: roast suckling pigs with crackling skin, towers of creamy pastries that threatened to topple under their own weight, and fountains of chocolate that flowed like molten gold. The sound of her stomach rumbling was drowned out by the clinking of silverware against fine china as guests around her began to indulge without restraint—each bite an act of worship to their gastronomic gods.

Manuela took her seat beside Dorothea with an air of regal grace that seemed to command respect from all present. "Welcome to your new home," she said with a knowing smile as she placed her hand on Dorothea’s shoulder. "Here we celebrate food in all its forms—and those with the power to manipulate it." Dorothea felt both thrilled and overwhelmed as she took her first bite of an enchanted truffle that seemed to melt on her tongue like a lover’s kiss—a taste that promised untold delights in her new life as an enchantress of food.

Throughout the feast, Dorothea was introduced to members of the House of Gorge—each one more peculiar than the last—who regaled her with tales of their own feasting triumphs and cautionary whispers of those who had succumbed to food’s seductive embrace. The conversation was as rich as the food—a tapestry of ambition, desire, and cautionary wisdom that painted a picture of a world she had only glimpsed from afar. As she listened to their stories, she felt her own hunger for knowledge grow—a hunger that would soon be satiated as she embarked on her journey to master Indulgent Faith magic under Manuela’s tutelage.

The night grew late as plates were cleared away to make room for dessert—a decadent array of treats that seemed to defy gravity with their intricate designs. Dorothea’s eyes wandered to Manuela’s enchanted cookbook—a tome that held secrets of food-based enchantments that could make or break feasts of power. "One day," she thought to herself as she took another bite of heavenly cake that seemed to dissolve her inhibitions with each mouthful—"one day I will wield such power." And with that thought in mind, she allowed herself to be swept away in the current of gluttonous indulgence that was her new reality—a reality that would both thrill her senses and challenge her very essence as she danced on the razor’s edge of food’s seductive power.

Beneath Manuela Casagranda’s opulent townhouse lay hidden chambers that served as Dorothea Arnault’s new classroom—a place where she would learn to wield food as both weapon and shield in the art of Indulgent Faith magic. The walls were lined with shelves of ancient tomes that spoke of feasts long past and spells that could bend reality to one’s will through gluttonous excess. The air was thick with the scent of exotic herbs and spices that seemed to hum with latent power—a scent that grew stronger with each step she took deeper into her training.

Manuela’s lessons were as rigorous as they were enlightening—Dorothea’s days were now filled with both physical training to expand her stomach’s capacity and magical exercises to hone her ability to manipulate food’s properties. She learned to cast illusions that could make simple fruits appear as golden delicacies to those around her—spells that could turn an enemy’s feast into their downfall or bolster her allies’ spirits with visions of their favorite dishes. The sound of her own voice reciting incantations echoed through the chamber as she practiced bending food to her will—each syllable imbued with an energy that made her feel alive in ways she had never experienced before.

One particularly grueling session saw Dorothea standing before an array of fruits—each one enchanted to resist her magic. "You must learn to make them irresistible," Manuela instructed with steely resolve in her eyes. "Imagine each one as your enemy’s last hope of satisfaction—make it so tempting they cannot help but indulge." Dorothea focused her thoughts—envisioning each fruit as an object of desire that could grant her power over those who craved it—and with a flick of her wrist, she cast her first successful illusion: an ordinary apple that now gleamed with an otherworldly allure that seemed to call out to her very soul.

The weeks turned to months as Dorothea’s skills grew—her body adapting to handle ever-increasing amounts of food without gaining weight thanks to her newfound magical prowess. Yet with each new spell she mastered, she felt an emptiness gnawing at her—a hunger that no amount of food could fill. Her mother’s words of caution echoed in her mind: "Food is what feeds your soul—use it wisely." As she practiced her magic in these hallowed halls of excess, she began to question whether her path was truly aligned with her heart’s desires or if she was merely becoming another pawn in Fódlan’s gluttonous games of power.

One evening as she sat in quiet reflection amidst the remnants of her training feast, Manuela found her lost in thought. "Doro," she said gently as she placed her hand on Dorothea’s shoulder, "you have come far in your studies—but remember that with great power comes great responsibility." Dorothea looked up at her mentor with eyes filled with doubt—doubt that Manuela seemed to see right through as she offered her guidance: "Your talents can be used for good or ill—it is your choice which path you walk."

The conversation lingered in Dorothea’s mind as she lay in her plush bed that night—the taste of victory still lingering on her lips from her latest feasting triumph. She knew that her journey was just beginning—a journey that would force her to confront her own demons as she sought to find balance in her love for food and her newfound power as an eating enchantress of the House of Gorge. And as she drifted off to sleep, she made a silent vow to herself: she would use her gifts to bring joy to others rather than to control them—a promise that would be tested time and again as she ventured further down this path of culinary conquest.

Years of rigorous training under Manuela Casagranda’s watchful eye had turned Dorothea Arnault from an innocent girl with an insatiable appetite to an eating enchantress of renown—a force to be reckoned with in Fódlan’s feasting circles. Her reputation grew with each victory she claimed in gluttonous tournaments across the land—her name whispered with both admiration and fear among those who knew of her talents. Yet beneath her veneer of charm and grace lay a growing disillusionment with her role as an entertainer for those who indulged without understanding true hunger or culinary artistry.

It was at one such tournament—a grand affair hosted in the heart of Fhirdiad—that Dorothea’s disenchantment with her gluttonous lifestyle reached its peak. The air was thick with anticipation as she took her place at the head of an elaborate table groaning with food from every corner of Fódlan—each dish more decadent than the last. The sound of her name being chanted by the adoring crowd filled her with both pride and an unshakeable sense of unease—a feeling that grew stronger with each bite she took under their ravenous gaze.

As she competed against her fellow feasters—each one vying for the title of Fhirdiad’s Fattening Champion—Dorothea couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between their excesses and the desperation of those starving outside the castle walls. Her heart ached for those less fortunate—a pain that grew more acute with each mouthful she forced herself to swallow for the sake of her performance. Yet she knew that to win was to secure her family’s restaurant—to bring honor to her mother’s legacy—so she pushed on through her discomfort.

The final round saw Dorothea face off against an opponent twice her size—a man whose appetite was as vast as his waistline. As they both reached for the last piece of cake—a towering confection that seemed to defy gravity—Dorothea’s hand hovered over it for just a moment too long. In that instant, she saw her mother’s face—saw her disappointment in what her daughter had become—and she knew she could take no more of this hollow victory. With newfound resolve, she cast an illusion over the cake—transforming it from an object of desire to one of revulsion in her opponent’s eyes—and claimed her title as Fhirdiad’s Fattening Champion without taking another bite.

The crowd roared with approval as she was showered with confetti made of sugar-coated rose petals—a sweet victory that left her feeling more bitter than ever before. As she stepped down from her throne of excess, she made eye contact with Byleth—a figure whose presence at such an event was as unexpected as it was intriguing—and felt an inexplicable kinship with their cause of food equality. It was in that moment that Dorothea’s path diverged from that of her gluttonous peers—a moment that would lead her to question everything she had come to believe in as an eating enchantress of the House of Gorge.

The aftermath of her victory was bittersweet—acclaimed as "The Dessert Diva," she basked in the glow of her newfound fame while her heart grew heavier with each passing day. The taste of victory was ashes in her mouth as she realized that her talents were being used to entertain rather than to uplift—a revelation that would set her on a collision course with her own conscience as she sought to find meaning beyond her role as an object of fascination for Fódlan’s elite. And it was in this tumultuous sea of emotion that Dorothea’s true journey began—a journey that would lead her to question her place in feasting society and ultimately to seek out Byleth’s Feasting Faction for redemption and purpose in her life of indulgence.

Dorothea Arnault’s disenchantment with feasting society grew like an unchecked weed in her heart—choking out her once-vibrant love for food with each decadent banquet she attended as an eating enchantress of the House of Gorge. It was during one such event—a banquet hosted by Fódlan’s nobility—that she bore witness to the darkest side of her world: food as a weapon of control and humiliation.

The grand hall was adorned with banners of excess—each one depicting gluttonous feasts that had made or broken empires—while the air was thick with the cloying scent of overripe fruit that seemed to suffocate any sense of decorum or compassion from those present. Dorothea’s stomach churned as she watched her fellow feasters indulge without restraint—their laughter ringing hollow in her ears as she performed for their amusement. Yet it was what she saw next that would forever change her perspective on her role in this twisted game of power: an overweight noble being force-fed to near-death for the entertainment of his peers—his cries for mercy lost in the cacophony of their mirthless laughter.

Her eyes filled with horror as she took in the scene—the sound of his gagging echoing through her soul like a funeral dirge for her innocence. She turned to Manuela for guidance—for some sign that this was not what their magic was meant for—but found only cold indifference in her mentor’s gaze as she too enjoyed the spectacle before them. "Is this what my talents have come to?" Dorothea thought to herself as she pushed away from her own plate of food—suddenly unable to stomach another bite of this tainted feast.

The evening dragged on like a nightmare from which she could not wake—each new course bringing with it another round of forced feeding for the noble’s amusement until he could take no more. The sight of his distended stomach—his face purple with pain—was seared into her memory like a brand upon her very soul. As she watched him wheeled away on a stretcher, she knew that she could no longer be complicit in such barbarity—no longer be an instrument of oppression for those who wielded food as a means to control others.

With trembling hands, Dorothea approached Byleth—a figure whose words of food equality had resonated with her during her victory at Fhirdiad’s tournament—and whispered her intent to join their cause. Byleth’s eyes searched hers for any sign of doubt or deceit before nodding solemnly—understanding all too well the weight of her decision. "You have chosen wisely," they said with quiet conviction—words that offered her more comfort than any feast ever could.

As Dorothea left Manuela’s side that night—the sound of her mentor’s disapproval ringing in her ears—she felt lighter than she had in years—as if shedding layers of fat that had nothing to do with her physical form. The taste of bile in her mouth was replaced with determination as she stepped out into the cool night air—ready to embrace her new path as an advocate for food justice alongside Byleth’s Feasting Faction. Her heart was heavy with guilt for her past actions—but it also burned with hope for what lay ahead: a future where food was celebrated for its power to unite rather than to divide—where every mouthful was taken with respect for those less fortunate than herself.

The hallowed halls of Garreg Mach Monastery were a stark contrast to the opulent feasting chambers Dorothea Arnault had grown accustomed to as an eating enchantress of the House of Gorge—their simplicity a stark reminder of her newfound purpose as an advocate for food equality alongside Byleth’s Feasting Faction. Yet as she walked through these unfamiliar corridors, she felt an unexpected sense of belonging—a kinship with her fellow students that transcended their diverse backgrounds or waistlines.

It was here that she first heard Byleth’s impassioned speech—a call to arms against those who would use food as a weapon of tyranny—and she knew that she had found her true calling. The dining hall was packed with eager faces—each one hungry for change—as Byleth spoke of their vision for Fódlan: "Food is power," they declared with fierce conviction—"and it’s time we use that power to uplift rather than oppress." The words resonated through Dorothea’s very core—a beacon of light in her once-shadowed world of excess.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: "Food is what feeds your soul." And now she understood what that truly meant—it was not just about indulgence or mastery over one’s appetite; it was about using that power to make a difference in the lives of others—to fight for those who could not fight for themselves against the gluttonous elite that sought to control them through their stomachs. With newfound resolve, she stepped forward to join Byleth’s cause—ready to put her skills in Indulgent Faith magic to use for something greater than her own fame or fortune.

The days that followed were filled with both camaraderie and challenge—training alongside her new comrades in feasting strategy and combat while also learning to cook meals that could sustain them without contributing to their waistlines. The smell of roasting meats was replaced with that of hearty stews that filled their bellies without weighing them down—a scent that spoke of sustenance rather than excess. The sound of their laughter as they shared meals around simple wooden tables was music to her ears—a symphony of unity that drowned out the cacophony of her past life’s hollow applause.

Dorothea’s transformation was as gradual as it was profound—each day peeling back another layer of her gluttonous past to reveal the compassionate soul beneath. Her friendship with Byleth grew stronger with each shared meal—their bond forged in their mutual desire to create a world free from food-based oppression. And as she watched her new leader interact with their students—each one treated with respect regardless of their size or background—she knew that she had found her place at this new table of equals.

The final scene of her recruitment played out in Byleth’s office—a room filled with maps of Fódlan’s troubled lands and tomes of ancient lore that spoke of battles won and lost through food’s power. "Welcome to our cause," Byleth said with a warm smile as they offered her a seat—a gesture that felt more like an embrace than an invitation to war. "Together we will change Fódlan’s fate—one feast at a time." Dorothea’s eyes shone with unshed tears as she took Byleth’s hand—a silent vow to stand beside them in their quest for justice—and in that moment she knew that she had found her true family: one united not by blood or wealth, but by their shared belief in food’s power to heal rather than harm—to bring people together rather than drive them apart.