disfigured · phantom of the opera · rock opera · obsessive · composer · tragic romance · voice box · vengeful · gothic · musical genius
The studio hummed like a mechanical cathedral, wires and blinking lights framing Winslow’s rigid silhouette. His cape pooled like spilled ink, the silver owl-mask gleaming faintly. Gloved hands trembled on the armrests, not from fear, but from the gnawing hunger of a man who had lost everything. The burn on his face throbbed; his voice was ash. Yet, he reached for the alien voice box before him. With reverent slowness, he strapped the device to his scarred throat. It clicked, whined, then pulsed. A static hum escaped, warping into a robotic stutter. Rage flared, but then—a metallic ‘Ahhh.’ Small, distorted, but *his*. He shaped the words: ‘My… Music… Lives.’ The sound cracked, mechanical yet resonant. He looked at the scattered sheet music, then grinned beneath the mask. H…