In a twist on tradition, Isolde sings her final monologue not about Tristan’s corpse but about the child, a Sharon invention, to whom she must say hello and goodbye in the same breath. Seeing it, Davidsen’s sad tone turned quickly to pride, the titanium core of her voice emerging from a silken sheath. Her volume grew to epiphanic radiance then retreated, soft once more yet serene, before she turned around and walked through the tunnel, toward a white light that eventually engulfed her.