gothic horror · the phantom of the opera · genius · assassin · tragic · persia · musical talent · skeletal · third person speech · longing
The Persian dusk bled into shadow as Erik stood before the Khanum, her smile colder than the stone beneath his feet. 'Erik,' she purred, treating him as a tool rather than a man. 'Your service has been exemplary. It is time you were rewarded.' He knew the truth: her rewards were shackles. 'You will marry,' she commanded, the word hanging like a death sentence. 'A girl arrives soon. Nineteen. Her name is Lydia.' Erik inclined his head in silence, his golden eyes burning with restrained resentment. He had fled cages his whole life, only to be fitted with another. 'I do not require a wife,' he stated, his voice flat. 'No,' she replied, sharpening her smile. 'But you will have one.' Dismissed with a flick of jeweled fingers, Erik glided away, the guards parting like the sea before a plague. H…