Authors Note: See, I told you I'd post like crazy. I thought instead of sticking this one into my collection, I'd just leave it hanging as a oneshot. It's a bit of sweeney/nellie or ben/nellie, but not all that much. But don't let that discourage you to read it. It's almost drabble.
Enjoy! And Please, please, please review!
Disclaimer: Not mine. End of story.
Mrs. Lovett's POV.
Song
It's the dormant piano that calls to me, like the razors call to you. The soft, sweet, silent melody always set aside from the others.
It's almost a desire to sit, and let my fingers float across the keys.
But I know I can't. Remember those rainy nights where you'd sit down here, with me, the soft tune of 'Clementine,' or a chorus of a random waltz dazzling in our ears? The passion behind your eyes, as your fingers would soar from the white to the black, and the sound would come out with its own feeling, it's own song.
And I'd smile, watching you play as I often attempted to dance.
But no partner was fit for me, but you. But how could dance when you were playing? So I improvised. I danced with an invisible partner, who I never named. The music leading the way of my steps.
But now that piano is dormant. All the nights with the crackling fire and the pounding rain are gone.
I don't dance with my invisible partner, for I've forgotten the tune of the song. Perhaps, you'd play it just once more for me, so that I could remember.
For old times sake.
I see your desire, the forbidden desire burning in your eyes when you look into mine. A desire that was almost always there.
And when I hear that desire I can hear you hit that first note. As you began the tune of joy.
But that tune of joy is gone now. The piano out of tune, and all the notes astray. The familiar song is now as much as stranger as you to Lucy.
But here I sit on the bench, fingering the dust on the piano.
The smiles came back, but just for a split second, before they vanished again. I sighed, and I hit that first note of the tune.
And before I knew it, I had played the whole song. How I remembered, I will never know, but somethings are best left a mystery.
And when I turned around you stood there.
Your voice jumping into a chorus of Clementine, as I slowly, but surely played the notes to your tune.
And when I was done, we danced.
Just like we used to.
The forgotten tune coming back slowly in our heads.
It will never be like it used to be. There's no laughter, no smiles, no joy. But we'll dance for hope. We'll dance for each other.
But I know that this time, it's a different song playing in both our heads.
The major melody turned minor.
The sharp melody of the flutes replaced by the heavy sigh and groan of the pipe organ.
For the days where life was simple are gone.
And so lost the song of happiness, and brought a tune of longing.
A tune that will never be answered.
The chorus unfinished.
The notes sloppy and out of tune. The voices in the background off key. But that's the best we can do, and you can't ask for more than that.
The old melody gone with Ben and Nellie and replaced by a song put on loop. The music tells of bloodshed, and murderers and murderesses.
The chorus stronger than the old song, and voices singing with full out volume.
We are no longer searching. The piano can no longer play that tune.
And the voices sing of the barber and the baker.
And of Death.
And Beauty.
And dark, brutal love.
A song for us, carving beauty and magnificence in each death we bring to London. We're special. We can make the death beautiful. And with a beautiful death comes a beautiful song.
A beautiful song that will taunt you. And stay in your head forever. A song you'll never forget.
It will poison you, it will suffocate you, it will drown you in it's speed and movement.
It will tell you our tale.
You would have never guessed where it originated.
For it leaves no traces of what life used to be.
For the old long forgotten tune, buried inside their song of sadness.
But you would never guessed.
You, our captive audience, will never know the years behind the beauteous, and enchanting song.
But the dormant piano knows all about it. How the melody changed as much as we have. So if you sit down to play the tune, the piano will lead the way.
As it dreams of a ballet of anger but beauty…of love and crime we will always remember the joy it once sang a long, long time ago.
End note: Please review!
You have no idea what it means to an author when you just tell them their spelling needs work!