I was free.
The angel of music had unchained me. I had given him my soul, my mind, my love, and he had sent me from his hell. He had saved me and condemned himself in a single moment, almost as fleeting as the kiss.
Our kiss.
I had wanted to save Raoul. I had flung myself at my captor in a desperate attempt to free him from a gruesome fate. But, as my lips met those of the cold, dark phantom, my heart began to burn with a fire which I had never felt. My mind swan with Don Juan Triumphant. My skin danced with flames of fear and hate and love and searing desire. My tears mixed with those of a man, those of an angel. I could not get close enough to him, and yet, in that moment, we were the same caged, tortured beast.
I cried.
I cried as I left him. I cried as I sang out to him. I cried as I climbed toward the sun. I cried as Raoul told me not to be afraid anymore, and then I cried in my anger at him. He had pulled me away! He had broken the wings, torn the heartstrings of my poor angel, and yet he still had the nerve to comfort me!
It was through my angry tears that I saw the flames. They consumed the rich red velvet of the seats, the shining glory of the chandelier, and, I'm sure, the mangled bodies of my last audience.
I had cried out for Raoul, but he was not by my side. In my fear that the fire had taken him, that my last thoughts of him would be hateful, I lost control. I turned on the spot, searching for some escape, for a miracle, an angel.
By then, I was already burning.