Author's notes: Here is the Epilogue – the final part of this phanphic. I'd officially like to thank all of you guys for your support, encouragement, and praise – it means a lot to me, and I think I gained a lot of experience with this phic. I might do an alternative version of the ending – the movie ending – but don't bet on it. One of the 3 phics I'm writing is over, but be sure to read the other two, I'd like to know what you think.

This Epilogue is short, but I really couldn't think of anything else to say, because the scenes are so brief, and there's only so much you can say about the character's thoughts. Anyway, unique POV now, but I'm certain you'll recognize who it is soon enough.

A big thanks goes to Enrinye, for her enthusiasm, nagging when the next chapter will be posted and insane but creative ideas.

broadwaydreams4ever, pheebe the anonomus comentor w, kayadcpandora, Miss Daae, EriksIngenue, longblacksatinlace, EriksIngenue, Gypsy, Mina, erikfan, All That Remains, starnat, lady kathrin, EriksSylvia, light barrer, Phan, Mini Nicka, phantomphan85, Mademoiselle Phantom, ElfPrincess94, Maidenhair, squishmich, DarkMoonLightBright, Twinkle22, Mominator, Morleigh, Tara, Lady Karol, Nota Lone – I love you all! (I hope I got everyone).

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Epilogue

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I am in the air.

Only for a few short moments, though. Only until, with a loud splash, I land in the icy waters of what seems to be the mix of a gutter and an underground lake. It's really cold, but I don't mind it that much. Tonight had been to fiery for my taste anyway, so a bit of the opposite isn't exactly unwelcome.

Quickly, I rush through the water, only my instinct guiding me. I have only ever been as far as a few steps down the first corridor, but back then, it was dark and now, my way is illuminated by dozens of torches of those behind me, who are as eager as I to finally find our way.

We expected traps – even finding a door to the underground was hard, and now, searching the labyrinth of corridors and pillars is very hard. However, we are all able to tell that the statues surrounding us, the carvings in the walls… the decorative elements around us… weren't meant for the eyes of anyone but the Phantom, who must have made this place his own realm.

All my life, I have been hearing tales of the Phantom of the Opera, the height of mystique in the Opera Populaire, and tonight, I was descending to his own private domain, attempting to find his lair. And those behind me were also determined to capture and imprison him… not without reason, I believe. Still, I don't truly believe he is an evil creature… well, not as evil as he was described by the now deceased Joseph Buquet.

The man we have watched tonight showed us first unearthly beauty and then inhuman ugliness… in a strange way, I felt pity. I didn't see how anyone could live with such a horrible face, and I didn't even see him that up close.

I rush even more when I think of Christine. My poor friend! She had been kidnapped, dragged down here… for what reason, I can only guess, but I suppose it had something to do with her engagement to the Vicomte and the fact that in his notes, the Phantom always seemed to be very protective of her. Her talent is obvious, that much is certain, but it was still a bit too overeager protectiveness…

The Angel of Music! What a simple deception. I cannot pretend I haven't been suspicious about this business. It was strange from the beginning, from the moment Christine mentioned it, I thought something was wrong. Angels stay in Heaven… and I thought it might just be her daydream, her fantasy… or something darker and more dangerous.

Unfortunately, the second option proved to be reality.

I should have gone down with Maman and the Vicomte. Maman had disappeared somewhere and the Vicomte did not return… and neither did Christine. We could only hope that neither of them ended up like Piangi, who had been found backstage moments after the chandelier fell, a thin, slippery lasso, like a silvery snake, wrapped around his neck with expertise.

His eyes were dead… he had been strangled.

In the distance, I saw a gigantic portcullis… and then… I gasped silently. I had been expecting … something… but what appeared before me was…incredible.

It was well-known that the opera ghost got a gigantic salary each month from the managers. I don't think I have ever seen and will ever see a more wonderful room than the one that appeared in front of us. The effect wasn't even ruined by the coolness of the cave.

The rich Persian carpets, magnificent ebony musical instruments, most monumental of them the beautiful organ that seemed to be an altar to music, curtains made of the finest fabrics… and, everywhere, music sheets. From every corner of the lair, neatly piled papers stuck out, from copies of Don Juan Triumphant to simple tunes for one instrument.

And then, for all of us to see, mirrors… baroque-style golden-framed mirrors… all broken. Shattered shards of glass on the floor.

I felt sadness at that sight.

But no one was near, I could sense that. The rest of the crowd that rushed in behind me probably knew as well, since they all bore looks of surprise. I rushed to the shore to check. Around me, there was only beauty.

A mannequin that had Christine's face was stored in one small room. Only then did I notice that all around me, there were pictures of Christine. Christine sleeping, Christine brushing her hair, Christine singing… a miniature model of the stage, complete with a chandelier… and little figurines of each of the characters. Surprise crossed my face when I saw a miniature of myself among the models. The two in front were Don Juan and Aminta, the two that had the most detail.

There were dolls from other productions there – Il Muto, Hannibal… each with removable heads, I noticed, so that the parts could be switched. Costume designs, prop models… and masks.

All around me, there were masks, almost each the same model – a luminous white half-mask for the right half of the face. The black mask of Don Juan was on one of the figurines and I realized with a slight shock that the full "Red Death" costume and mask was on a figurine nearby.

I entered what seemed to be one of the main rooms of the "house", a room with a beautiful peacock… or swan, I didn't have time to see… bed. There were no signs of…anything! Except…

I rushed to one of the tables and crouched. There was a mask there… perhaps indistinguishable from the others, but this one seemed special. This one wasn't on a mannequin or figurine – it was likely the Phantom had just taken it off. All signaled that he had left. But without his mask? I frowned slightly… and then I noticed it.

A single red rose, with a black ribbon neatly tied around it, was lying next to where the mask had been, simple, pure, untouched… explaining everything. For a moment, I remained there, looking at the mask I now held in my hand with a strange mixture of pity, surprise, and content.

The little music box nearby – a monkey in Persian robes, playing the cymbals – began to play, and I looked at it curiously for a second. Then, still holding the mask, I moved to search the rest of the house. The treasures here had to be preserved, not destroyed, as a final altar to the Angel of Music, who had returned to Heaven when he found his other half.

And as the monkey plays the last note of its quiet song, in my mind, I realize that only one song of the music of the night had ended.

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Fin