To Be Elegant
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She walked like a dancer; toes pointed gracefully, an indescribable elegance to her step.
Ever since she had been a child, fanciful from an early age – head in the clouds and feet on the floor, dancing her life away – she had dreamed of being on stage; of being something to behold, of being
Beautiful.
Mrs Lovett; eccentric skirts fluttering gracefully around her lily-white calves and pretty little heart pounding erratically under her black-on-black corset. That was who she was, who she should have been.
Only somehow life doesn't work like that, does it? For she had been beautiful (she had, she had) but that wasn't enough – it was never enough.
Her childhood fantasies had never accommodated the Mrs Lovett of reality; still with those eccentric skirts but her poor, pretty little heart barely bothering to beat anymore because… what for? She wasn't beautiful.
She was bitter (and her pies weren't any better, really).
But then he came back. He came back, almost as if from the dead, and it was him – it really was, even though his name was Sweeny Todd now – and her dancer's lilt returned; he held her in his arms and they danced and danced and danced.
She was a dancer and she was beautiful and she was his.
Only somehow life never works like that, does it? For he had been beautiful too, once upon a time (he had, he had) but the new man at her doorstep was like a stranger; almost as bitter as her with her worn-out shoes and heart like a hole, and crazy people do crazy (stupid, moronic… evil) things.
She wonders if she is evil too because she helps him, encourages him, but she manages to shrug the worrisome thoughts away; who wants to think when involved in such a beautiful (deadly) dance? One foot out of place, one toe out of line, and that would be it; whole secret up in smoke.
The bodies (piles of them, throats neatly slit all festering and rotting and crawling with flies) in the kitchen, stacked by the furnaces, and the blood dripping down the razorblades; glistening like rubies on the flat of a steel knife – sharp and unforgiving (especially to human flesh).
And yet the dancing made it all worthwhile, the endless euphoria and the rush of adrenaline. It was all she had ever wanted to do and all she ever could do, dancing and dancing with her pretty skirts flowing and her pretty heart thumping.
Sometimes he steadied her by the waist and they would dance together, bodies moving fluidly to an unheard beat for it was meant to be – he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me – and they would keep on moving, slipping further and further into insanity; paving their paths to hell and still she kept on dancing and laughing because he loved her, he loved her-
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-he pushed her
(and she never danced again).
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a.n: sweeny todd yo xD wrote it because my favourite scene in the whole film is the one where mrs. lovett gets pushed into the furnace. and mrs. lovett was my favourite character