A/N: So this was a fairly spur-of-the-moment idea, but one that wasn't completely out of the blue. Many times I've listened to Broadway songs and thought 'hey, doesn't that apply a little to Phantom?' So, because of this, I've decided to write a bunch of one-shots and compile them together. I'm sure someone else has probably done this already, but I thought it would be a fun little project, and something to be enjoyed. So, give me feedback, and suggestions! I'd love to see what songs you think apply to Christine and Erik!

Disclaimer: Phantom belongs to Lloyd Webber and Leroux, and Seussical belongs to Dr. Seuss Enterprises and Flaherty.

Chapter I - Alone In The Universe

Little footfalls could be heard from below, imprinting themselves on the wooden floorboards ceaselessly. It could be said soundly that from stories below one can hear the pitter-pattering of footsteps. So many people passed within the Opera that no one could possibly count the passersby that crossed within its' walls. From employees of the Opera to patrons, many had the good fortune to say they had seen the grand building and had experienced the life inside first-handedly.

One young, impressionable girl heard them all, and each and every sound they made. The feet, though encased in many different holdings and belonging to forms of different varieties, all sounded similarly from the distance that separated them. Every day she escaped from these sounds, despite whether or not it was the sound of heavy feet or the sounds of laughter, singing, or musician's fiddling. It was not that she found these sounds perturbing – on the contrary, they sounded homey. She attributed all these sounds to the familiarity of a home, of feeling comfortable and content. She was just as at home on the stage as she was practicing offstage or eating in the little cafe just outside the Opera. The need to escape these sounds wasn't great, nor necessary, but she found herself escaping them more and more.

Though she loved her new home, she still missed her old one terribly. Every day the reminder of what she had lost hit her acutely. The memory of her father's death stayed with her, like a dull ache in her heart that would not leave. He had been her best friend in the entire world, and now he was gone. The love she had had for her father was a childish, unconditional love. In her eyes he was the most wonderful individual she had ever known, and would ever meet. In her child's heart she felt that she would never meet a man quite like him.

The only consolation to her grief had been the promise he had made to her...and her father always kept his promises. He had told her, before he died, that he would send the Angel of Music to her to watch over her. She believed him fervently, and knew that one day an angel would come to guard and guide her while she trained at the Opera. However, weeks had already passed since her father's soul had left this plain, and still the angel had not appeared.

Christine Daae was not a girl of rational thought. Many a time her peers would reflect upon how often Christine kept to herself, or how often her attention would wander during rehearsals. She couldn't help it – it was simply in her nature. She was fanciful, and had always been that way, from a very young age. Her father had made her so, and had fostered the dreamy aspect in his daughter. The stories he wove inspired her dreaming, causing the girl to wrap herself around the notion of fairies, goblins and the like. She would imagine, during the most tiring of moments, that pixies would crawl out of misplaced ballet slippers, or that the members of the orchestra would pop up from the pit, startled because their ankles had been nipped at by lamias. She saw these things in her mind's eye, and they pleased her, because they took her away from her current situation. Not that she was ungrateful for where she was. She was not. It was just that she sometimes felt more lonely than she could explain, and more imaginative than she could afford. It was something that got her into trouble, often earning a reprimand from Madame Giry. But she took the chastisement demurely and without complaint.

For she had found something that was worthy of separating herself from reality. Something she could not share with her fellow ballet rats, or members of the chorus. Something she could not, and would not, for that matter, share with Meg, her closest friend at the Opera, or Madame Giry. Her own personal piece of magic.

I'm alone in the universe.
So alone in the universe
I've found magic but they don't see it

She sat alone in the chapel below the stage, her hands laced neatly on her lap as her skirt spread around her. She tuned out the voices from above, the footsteps that pounded so irately upon the floorboards above, and turned her inner ear to the silence in the room. Silence filled it like it was a void and it felt appropriate. The only sound she had heard in the room before had been the Voice - the glorious thing tying her to this empty hovel. At first she had thought herself mad, hearing voices that could not possibly be there. However, the Voice did not cease, and it did not make only a single appearance. It came to her a few times, and filled her with a longing so deep she could not trace the source. It called to her sweetly, the yearning in it matching the yearning in her soul. It beckoned her with it's warm invitation, hauntingly lovely and rich. It never spoke - it would only sing to her. The songs were familiar, many from her homeland and many from the performances in the Opera. It was a voice unlike any human voice she had heard before. Ever since hearing it for the first time, she had immediately convinced herself that it was her angel, come to her at last.

Despite how thankful and lucky she was to have the Voice in her life, it also saddened her. She could not share the glory of the Voice, nor the knowledge of it. Firstly, no one believed her. It was truly ironic that people believed in a ghost haunting the Opera, but they did not believe in the Voice, a voice like an angel. She had tried to tell Meg, and in attempting it, had been overheard and it had earned snarky comments. They called her foolish, a dreamer, daft. She knew she was not and she knew what she had heard. Meg could only shake her head glumly at Christine. She did not believe her either.

They all call me a lunatic.
Ok, call me a lunatic.
If I stand on my own, so be it.

Partly her isolation depressed her, and yet she did not share too much time caring about it. The Voice was her friend, and it sometimes felt like it was her only true one. He – for the Voice was masculine – encouraged her, and his presence felt as if he genuinely cared. He knew of her father's death, and had been there to comfort her in her bereavement from the moment she stepped foot inside the Opera. He made his presence known to her, easing her pain when she cried and soothing her when she was afraid. He was sympathetic to her worries, understanding of her fears, and kind even when he needed to be cruel. He was the strong, sturdy hand, guiding her along her path, shaping her for greatness. He stood by her when others did not, and let her make her opinion known to him. He did not make her feel insipid, or silly, even when she knew she was acting that way. He listened to her, and she listened to him. Theirs was a relationship that could not be explained. Oh, but how Christine wished to tell someone of the Voice!

'Cause I have wings.
Yes, I can fly

He made her feel like she was capable of many things. To a child – though she was no longer as much of a child as she once had been – the world was a large and frightening place. He made her feel like she could accomplish any dream she had, could reach any star she reached for. Even her dream of becoming a prima donna.

Around the moon
And far beyond the sky

She trusted that he could do this for her, and she wanted it, more than she had ever wanted anything. With the Voice in tow, she could do anything.

And one day soon
I know there you'll be

For some unexplainable reason, she believed in the Voice more than she believed in the very real people surrounding her. She had faith in Him, and she had faith in the magic he inspired within her. Her faith in Him was strong, and she only wanted others to have faith in Him as well. Though she was fairly certain he came to no one else, she sometimes wondered. She had so many questions to ask him, but he never spoke to her the way a person speaks to another person. Could she find within herself the power to know the Voice as intimately as it knew her? The Voice was a gift to the world, and an important one at that. But how could she ask questions of something so precious without the fear of scaring it away by her curiosity? After all, she was only one human, and the Voice was an angel.

One small voice in the universe
One true friend in the universe
Who believes in me...

He had never imagined that he could reach out to another person the way he had reached out to Christine. Making her believe that he was some sort of celestial being was more than he could have hoped for in pursuing a connection with her. Though the deception was mind-numbingly disturbing, he could not find it within himself to cut her off from his existence. It was no longer about him and his inane, desperate need for human interaction – it was a relationship that Christine relied upon. He saw the way her face glowed whenever he sang to her or played her music. She needed him just as much as he needed her, though he could not convince himself of it completely. Oftentimes he would try to convince himself despite his misgivings that he should not be doing what he was doing, but it was already too late. She knew the Voice, and if he left her he could not be sure that she would survive the blow. She had already lost her father, the man who had played a major role in her life, and in losing him she had needed to find a substitution. Erik had made that decision for her, and it could not be taken back now. He would stay, if only to keep his promise to Christine to not leave her. She meant too much to him to hurt her so.

I'm alone in the universe.
So alone in the universe.
My own planets and stars are glowing.

For years Erik had lived a solitary life, not needing the companionship of others to complete him. The world that had mocked his very existence had only shown him pain and suffering, cruelty and rejection. He had become a law unto himself, a community of one that served his purposes singularly. He was capable of things others were not capable of. No knowledge, no craft was beyond his hand, beyond his comprehension. But he knew there was knowledge, and then there was experience. He understood human psychology, had witnessed it, but he did not share in it. He understood the feeling of jealousy, of love, but he had never felt those things. He understood the anatomy of a butterfly, but he had never seen one that was not inside a book. Erik had an abundance of knowledge, but most of his knowledge would never be shared with the world. He was a genius, he owned a great collection of talents, but they would never be showcased.

Before Christine, no one had ever listened to him. He had secreted himself away below the Opera for so many years that he sometimes forgot what his natural speaking voice was like. He used his voice to scare the ballerinas, to intimate the managers, but he spoke to very few people conversationally, and very rarely at that. In knowing Christine, he began to express himself more freely, more abundantly, if only a little at a time. It was enough to share a piece of himself with the girl. She listened openly, drinking in his voice as if she had an eternal thirst for it. He loved granting her wish to hear him. His wish was only to be heard, to be known. To be accepted as something other than a monster.

No one notices anything
Not one person is listening
They don't have any way of knowing

He entered the hidden space in the alcove that she would never suspect housed him, and stood silently, watching her. Her sweet head of curls was bowed, and she appeared to be in deep thought. His lips lifted into the closest semblance of a smile he could manage. His heart pounded with affection for the young girl. His protege – the angelic little child he had watched grow since she came to his Opera, brightening his world with her kind and large heart. He would give anything to make her happy, and he would watch over her as best he could. For he felt there was in his heart a special place for her, a place that could not be tampered with nor changed. She was forever plastered into him, a piece of who he was. She had changed him forever, even if just by hearing him. They were connected on a level no one else could understand. And he would not let anyone else understand, for they never would comprehend what she meant to him.

I have wings
I can fly
Beyond the sky

She looked up suddenly, sharply. She sensed him – he could tell. Her eyes were clouded, but soon they were cleared and the confusion lifted. She smiled serenely. She knew her Voice was here. Obliging her, he answered her silent plea for him to make himself known. He sang to her softly, gently, awakening the secret part of herself she kept hidden from everyone else. Only he could unleash the real Christine.

"Angel..." she said after a moment, her girlish child's voice elated. She was calm, at peace in his presence. All of her sadness abated when he visited. He knew she knew that he would take care of her. He sang for many minutes, and she simply sat, unspeaking, engulfing the music with rapture in her eyes. After his song ended, she started, something akin to courage driving her to call out into the darkness.

Well someday soon
You will hear my plea

"Angel...? I...please, won't you talk to me? I dream about hearing you say my name, and sometimes in my dreams we speak about many things. Won't you say something? Just once, so I can know you're real, and not in my head?"

One small voice in the universe

He furrowed his brow. She had never asked for him to speak to her before. The request was understandable, but he still feared it. Speaking to her would be crossing a line they had been toeing for weeks. Their relationship was intangible, but if they were to begin communicating in words rather than in feeling, he would become a part of her life that went beyond music. Music embodies feeling without forcing it to contend and combine with thought, as it is forced in most arts and especially in the art of words, as Franz Liszt once said. Could he allow such a relationship with Christine without the fear of revealing himself as human, rather than angel? Looking upon her face, he knew his decision was already made.

One true friend in the universe
Please, believe in me...

"How was rehearsal today, ma petit amie?" he asked amiably, watching as her eyes widened considerably. She looked entranced, blissful, and relieved. He suspected she was happy to know she was not hearing voices after all. After a moment, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

"Nothing remarkable to speak of." So mature, he thought with fondness. Even for a young thing of seven. Yet, Christine was still an innocent, naïve thing. Erik would not have it any other way.

"You don't say," he replied with a small laugh, amused by the child. She smiled in return to the laughter in his voice, glad to know she had put him in high spirits. She so enjoyed laughing, and was glad to know her Voice enjoyed it as well. His speaking voice was the most beautiful thing in the entire world, second only to his singing voice. It gave her great joy to hear him. It felt like Christmas.

She nodded, confirming what she said. "Madame Giry works us to the bone, but she tells us we shall be grateful for it later."

He nodded solemnly, mindful of the fact that she could not see it. Mindful, also, that she never would. The thought did not sadden him, however. At least, not for the moment. "She is right. You must work hard to achieve your goals, child."

Christine bowed her head, looking dutiful and obedient. "Yes, maestro."

Erik narrowed his eyes at the name, but did not say anything. It felt fitting. He would allow her to call him thusly. He would be her maestro, and she his pupil. All in good time.

"You know where your true talent lies, Christine."

Yes I have wings
Yes, I can fly
Around the moon
And far beyond the sky

She bowed her head further. She was humbled that he thought so highly of her. There had been a few times where she had sung with him, glorying in his voice and the result of mixing hers with his. It was like nothing she had ever known. "Ange..."

"Dance for now, Christine. Enjoy the art of it. But I want you to remember what you are capable of. What you can become. What I foresee you becoming." Now that she had spoken to him, he would not hold back. She had called upon him, and he answered. He felt alive for the first time in a long time.

You call my name
And you set me free

"Thank you, maestro," she answered quietly, tears coming to her eyes at his praise and at the confidence he had in her. She felt truly blessed that the angel believed so deeply in her, just as she believed in him. She would give him all of her, for he had answered her plea for companionship and salvation. She would do everything he asked.

One small voice in the universe
One true friend in the universe

He had high hopes for Christine, hopes that he wished to fulfill through her. He knew he would never be known by the world, but if he could further his young protege and make her his Voice, he could live through her. She would be the star, and he would feel the accomplishment of knowing his music was alive in her. She could recreate what he wrote and broadcast it to the world. Only she could be his Voice, the instrument to play his music. And soon, he hoped to let her know that he wished this of her. But not yet – she was still too young to know what he had planned for her. Even so, he would make all of her dreams come true. They were destined for greatness, the pair of them. Together they would reach great heights, and even if they did not, they would still have each other, to be there for one another and listen when no one else would. For theirs was something untouchable. Something lovely, and rare, and sweet. They had found each other, at last.

Who believes in me.