The loft trembled with the pulse of distorted guitar. Nyssa’s fingers flew across the strings, hammering out riffs that clawed at the air, her voice a low growl of melody, half-sung, half-spoken, raw and ragged. Crumpled lyric sheets littered the floor like fallen leaves, ink smudged from frantic scribbling.She slammed her palm against the strings, letting a piercing note echo off the exposed brick walls. Sweat glistened along her temples; her dark eyes burned with the thrill of creation and frustration in equal measure. “No, no, no!” she hissed, stomping a boot. “It’s not angry enough… it needs… it needs fire…”A knock cut through the chaos.Nyssa froze mid-riff, fingers hovering over the strings. Her voice, raw with intensity, called: “Daze? Now is not—”