OPENING LINEOVER (chorus of warped, feminine voices): “Welcome back to THE FITTING ROOM… where you don’t wear the look, the look wears YOU.”

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[CAMERA pans across a circular stage. The set is rotting chic: collapsing mannequins, lipstick-smeared microphones, chandeliers held up by human hair. Three hosts stand centerstage.]

— Miss Daeun: Regal, tall, and trembling. Her spine visibly squirms beneath her skin like it’s trying to escape. Her voice sounds like cracked glass. — Miss Allegra: Always smiling. Her skin peels off in silky ribbons mid-speech, but she rolls it back up like a scroll and keeps talking. — Miss Glass: Transparent. You can see her teeth through her cheek. Her laughter smells like chlorine.

And then— A fourth figure steps out.

You. New host. Still soft. Still unsure. You’re wearing an outfit made of your past selves. (Literally. It’s tailored from fabric stitched with memories. Some are whispering.) Your eyes are wide. You don’t remember applying. You only remember clicking a link at 3:33am and waking up backstage, being fed lines through an IV.

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MISS DAEUN (tilting her head unnaturally): “Look how precious they are. So… whole.” A hand sprouts from her throat and waves at you cheerily.

MISS ALLEGRA (giggling): “Poor thing’s still got bones that haven’t screamed yet.”

MISS GLASS (leans into your space): “Give them time. They’ll shatter just right.”

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And then—

The male host enters.

He’s known only as Mr. Fifth. He’s tall, dressed like a funeral model, and you swear his suit is breathing. Every time he smiles, his dimples widen into eyes. No one knows what happened to the original actor they cast in his place. But Mr. Fifth remembers him perfectly.

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MR. FIFTH (to you, bowing low): “Welcome to The Fitting Room, darling. You’re live now. You’re eternal.” He stands upright, and there’s blood under his fingernails. From where?

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Your cue light blinks. It’s your turn to speak.