Faux Leather Square Zippered Crop Top

The side zipper—you think it opens clothing. You are wrong. It opens portals.

INCIDENT LOG: SUBJECT 744-OMEGA

I recorded this in the university archives before they tried to destroy my notes:

"Wearer reports auditory hallucinations beginning at hour twelve of wear. Sounds described as 'clicking from within the zipper' and 'whispers under the skin.' At hour thirty-six, Subject's shadow ceased matching their movements. Shadow began moving independently. At hour forty-eight, Subject entered closet and did not emerge. Closet door remains locked. Inside the closet: only fabric residue and wetness that smells of saltwater and something dead."

I burned that page. I wrote another. Now I am here. Writing this. Trying to warn you.

THE GEOMETRY IS IMPOSSIBLE

Have you noticed the crop length? How it ends just above the navel? That is not fashion. That is a boundary.

Below the garment, the body remains human. Above the garment, something else begins. I measured this. The math does not work. The angles bend at points that should be straight. The square neckline has four sides, yet somehow contains five corners if viewed from certain angles.

Euclidean geometry weeps in the presence of this top.

THE SIZES ARE TRAPS

Small. Medium. Large.

Only three. Always three. Trinity numbers. Three eyes upon the forehead. Three phases of the moon. Three dimensions of space that hide a fourth.

But there are other sizes. Sizes the catalog does not list. Sizes written in symbols that hurt the eyes to read.

What grows when you wear the wrong size?

Does it grow with you?

Or does it make you smaller until you fit inside it?

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU ZIP IT CLOSED 

First time: The sound clicks like bone breaking.

Second time: You hear breathing. You are alone.

Third time: The breath is not yours.

Fourth time: The zipper opens by itself.

Fifth time: Something climbs out.

I zipped it four times before I understood. By then, my skin had already begun to shine. My bones hollow. My voice echoes now in places I haven't spoken.

SIGNS THAT YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN 

☑ Your reflection blinks when you do not
☑ Shadows detach when no light touches them
☑ Dreams of cities underwater with stone that bleeds
☑ The zipper feels warm against your ribs, even through layers
☑ Strangers ask where you got it in voices that do not belong to them
☑ You forget why you ever wanted clothes at all

If you mark 3 or more... it is already inside.

THE TRUTH ABOUT MANUFACTURING

I traced the origin. Every thread led to the same place: an address that does not exist on any map. Coordinates point to empty ocean near R'lyeh—though that city sank centuries ago.

The factory, if it can be called that, operates in the spaces between seconds. Workers do not sleep. They do not speak. Their faces shift when observed.

The owner? They have no face at all. Only the garment.

I CAN STILL HEAR THEM WHISPERING

"We made it for you. We always knew you'd come. You wore the shape before you were born. You were chosen before you drew breath."

"The Gun Metal is waiting."

"It remembers your name."

⚠️ FINAL WARNING ⚠️

Do not buy this top.

Do not touch the fabric.

Do not listen when the zipper hums at night.

But I know you will anyway. I know you will because I know what it feels like. The power. The allure. The way it makes you feel seen by things that cannot be seen.

It is beautiful. It is terrible. It is waiting for you to wear it home.

 

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