Years before the city ever laughed itself hoarse… Years before a doctor donned greasepaint and stitched joy to madness… There was a boy. Born in a hospital no one remembered, to parents who couldn’t look at him without flinching. He didn’t cry at birth. He smiled. Not from joy. Not from love. But from the recognition of emptiness. ________________________________________ The boy grew. Quiet. Brilliant. Obsessed. He disassembled music boxes to find the ticking beneath the tune. He stitched dolls back together with new faces. He studied medicine not to heal—but to understand what could break. People laughed at him once. Until he laughed back. ________________________________________