So I'm going to be doing (or attempting to do) this thing called POTOber 2021, which means that I will be writing one shots according to daily Phantom of the Opera prompts created by CoatNTails on Tumblr.

(For the record, I'm not on Tumblr; I found out about this through a close friend of mine, and I decided to join her in participating.)

Today's prompt: ensnared/bound/seduced

I decided to go Leroux-based for this one shot, so I hope you all enjoy!

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"Did I get it right this time?" Christine's voice was full of hope as she spoke. This was the fourth time she had sung through the beginning measures of the aria, and each time prior to it, she had managed to mess up the words. She wasn't quite sure why she couldn't seem to get it correctly today; after all, she had been practicing every day for the past week.

Perhaps she was distracted by the fact that her Angel of Music was sitting not even three feet away from her at his piano and was looking rather ominous in his black mask. Maybe it was the fact that she was in his home—in the fifth cellar underneath the Opera, no less. After all, no matter how many times she'd been brought down, she still wasn't used to the musty smell or the eerie, inexplicable creaking sounds coming simultaneously from everywhere and nowhere.

Or, perhaps, it was the fact that Erik wished for her to take on the role of Marguerite in the upcoming production of Faust, and she felt ill prepared.

"Well, you were closer than the last time. Erik will say that much," her teacher replied, the corners of his lips hinting at what could have been a smile, though it appeared more like a smirk.

"So it wasn't right, then." Christine sighed in disappointment. "What did I do wrong this time?"

"Shockingly, it wasn't the lyrics this time. You did fine up until measures nine through fifteen, where you got a bit off with your timing," Erik replied, pointing with his pencil to the measures in question on the sheet music. "Erik thinks that once you work this out, this aria will be nearing perfection. Then you shall move on to practicing the duet. Now, just listen to Erik play through the accompaniment for that part, and then he will have you sing through that bit a few times. How does that sound?"

"Perfectly fine," Christine said with another quiet sigh.

Erik raised an eyebrow, although his mask hid that fact. "Something is concerning you," he observed. "What is it?"

"It's nothing, I...I just don't think I'm ready to this," Christine replied, her tone hushed. "And if I'm being honest, I don't know if I want to."

"Nonsense. While it is true that you aren't ready yet, Erik has no doubt that you will practice much until the performance," Erik replied, his voice remaining gentle and almost disturbingly calm. He straightened his sheet music, not bothering to turn and meet her eye. "Erik knows you would not disappoint him by not going through with this, Christine."

She shuddered slightly, toying with a strand of her blonde hair. Though there was no threat evident by his tone, she knew very well the underlying meaning of his words. She knew that if her Angel of Music wasn't pleased, people would suffer, and unfortunately, she couldn't even convince herself that her demise was outside the realm of possibilities. She knew that, as long as he was living, her voice belonged to him, and she must obey his every command. After all, he never failed to remind her just how easy it would be for him to arrange a little "accident" for her lover, the Vicomte de Chagny.

She heard Erik say her name, causing a slight chill to run down her spine. It took a moment for her to reply: "Yes?"

"Were you listening to the melody?" He asked, still talking in that strangely pacific tone of voice. "You know Erik does not like it when your mind wanders."

"I'm sorry, Maestro. Could you play it again?" Christine dared to ask, praying he would not be angry with her for not paying attention.

To her relief, he simply began to play again, but this time, it was not the aria from Faust she would be performing. Rather, it was an aria from his own opera, Don Juan Triumphant.

She knew what he was doing. She knew that he was aware of the effect his voice had on her. He could persuade her to do anything if he only sang for her. His voice, to her, was a powerful drug that she was a slave to. She often found herself lusting to hear it after long periods of its absence. Every part of her longed for it, craved it, and when she was blessed with its melody, it only left her yearning for more.

She was well aware of just how much his voice controlled her, and yet somehow, when he sang, she couldn't even care.

Every aspect of her was entirely at his disposal, and she was helpless against him.