Disclaimer: Please, if I owned Sweeney Todd, Johnny would have lost that ridiculous white streak in his hair, but otherwise would have remained exactly the same. The title of the story is taken from the song in 'Spring Awakening' (I think people who know that musical will find it very appropriate for this story).

Author's Note: This is a plot bunny that would not leave me alone (in fact, it had numerous subplot bunnies). This story is going to be considerably dark at the beginning, so brace yourself for extreme angst once I get going. If you are freaked out by the Judge/Johanna pairing, I would leave, as there will be some disturbing moments. The 'M' rating is for brief sexual content, and later violence (courtesy of Sweeney, of course). Also, I'm sure you can tell from the summary that this will be very Alternate Universe. Like my other stories, this is a blend of the movie and stage version.

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The Dark I Know Well

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The mansion on Kearney's Lane had many admirers. The street had numerous town houses that made pedestrians stop and gaze with envy, wishing that had such wealth and luxury. Yet there was something about that mansion that made people hold their gazes for even longer. It was not that the house was merely extravagant; there was something vaguely sinister about it that made one's insides feel a distinct chill. Perhaps it was the terribly realistic looking gargoyles, whose faces held demonic grins, as if they were more than pleased at the horrendous acts they had witnessed. The mansion was distinctly dreary looking as well. The grey stone was imposing, but it also evoked feelings of hopelessness and depression.

Most of the immense windows revealed only heavy curtains in shades of burgundy, navy, and mahogany. In windows where there were no curtains, it hardly made a difference. Passersby could hardly see inside because of the lack of light inside the house. The house's doors were also too large; they prevented the house from being anything but a house. The doors gave off the impression that they were often closed, not opened. They seemed like doors more inclined to slam than invite. The house was certainly a house; it was not a home.

Inside one window on the east wing of the house, however, someone was visible. A young woman of about sixteen sat in front of the window, her head in her hand, with a definitely melancholy expression on her face. Even from afar, people could tell that she was a great beauty. Her face was more likely to be that of a china doll's than that of an actual person's. Her heart-shaped face was framed by perfectly curled hair that fell in white blonde waves down the girl's back. The girl's perfect lips looked as though they were unused to smiling, though she would certainly have a lovely smile. But the rest of her face paled in comparison to her eyes: they were beautiful and unsettling. They were unnaturally wide and electric blue. Dark, long lashes framed her eyes beautifully, but they only enhanced their strangeness.

Regardless of how unsettling the girl's eyes were, she was undeniably and uncommonly beautiful. Her light blue dress only accentuated her flawless, ivory skin. Despite her loveliness, however, her sadness was obvious. Longtime residents of the neighborhood knew her by name, and many knew her personally, but they all secretly regarded her as nothing more than the tragically beautiful girl in the window. Young men of the neighborhood were less inclined to acknowledge how sad she looked; they looked at her beauty and smirked. Many approached the house to speak to her father about courtship, but they were all turned away.

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"You're to eat something, miss," Mrs. Collins told Johanna, impatience creeping into her voice unchecked. Johanna regarded the housekeeper coldly, but Mrs. Collins paid the teenager no mind. The housekeeper pushed a delicate china plate towards Johanna, sighing angrily. "Some toast, at least."

Johanna narrowed her eyes and took a deliberate bite of the toast, before promptly putting the toast back on her plate. The housekeeper huffed in a frustrated sort of way, taking the plates of untouched food away, muttering under her breath as she made her way towards the kitchen. Johanna could hear Mrs. Collins cruel, unforgiving words: "Spoiled little brat…deserves exactly what she gets."

As soon as the door to the kitchen swung shut, Johanna put her napkin to her mouth and spat out the piece of buttered toast. She felt certain that the slightest bit of food would cause her to empty the meager contents of her stomach. Johanna blindly placed the napkin back on the ornate dining table, putting her other hand to her forehead to try and rub her dark thoughts away. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes, and Johanna brushed them away angrily. God, she hated being weak like this. She hated being so trapped, but what could she do?

Mrs. Collins reentered, looking just as sour-faced and bitter as she always did. To Johanna, it seemed that Mrs. Collins would seem more at home in a gothic novel. She was more like a twisted, darker Mrs. Fairfax. "Miss Johanna, if you aren't going to eat, we should really get you ready."

Johanna shut her eyes for a beat, then reopened them slowly, taking deep, calming breaths all the time. "Yes, Mrs. Collins."

Mrs. Collins looked distinctly pleased at the lack of protest. "Well, then, come along, miss." Mrs. Collins gestured towards the entryway that led to the grand staircase. Johanna took one last sigh before pushing her chair back and following Mrs. Collins in a resigned manner. Johanna eyed all of the house's dark furnishings with disdain. Nothing held a good memory. There was no sign that she had grown up in this house, that she had once been a child in this house. She had no memories of sliding down the beam on the stairs. No, her childhood had been all cautious actions and hesitations, fear of angering her guardian and God. Johanna looked up at one of the numerous portraits of a crucified Christ with contempt. She didn't see anything glorious about such a violent death. If anything, Christ's eyes followed her up the stairs, regarding her with pity rather than blessing and forgiveness.

Johanna swallowed the lump of nerves and nausea in her throat and followed Mrs. Collins into her bedroom. A white dress was spread out on the bed, unadorned except for some lace trim and a few pearls sewn on the sleeves and bodice.

"Virgin white," Johanna thought miserably, her nausea increasing at the thought that she would not be a virgin for much longer. Mrs. Collins seemed to read her thoughts and smirked in a way that could not be disguised as compassionate as she called for a maid. Mrs. Collins gestured for Johanna to turn around, and she obeyed. Another action she was good at. Johanna did not wince or complain as one of the upstairs maids roughly undid the laces on Johanna's blue morning dress. She remained silent as the laces on her corset were retightened.

"God help me," Johanna thought as Mrs. Collins and the maid lifted the white dress over her head and laced her into without ceremony. The dress fit perfectly, accenting the curves of her breasts and hips, but modestly making her look the part of a demure and innocent bride, sans blushing. In fact, when Johanna reluctantly turned to regard herself in the mirror, she noticed that all of the blood seemed to have drained from her body. She had always been unnaturally pale, but now she seemed nothing more than skin and bone. She gasped in surprise when Mrs. Collins pinched her cheeks without tenderness. Miraculous, some blood rushed to the surface and made her look appropriately flushed.

"Bite your lip," Mrs. Collins ordered, and Johanna obeyed once again. Mrs. Collins nodded in a professional manner as she saw the blood rush to her fleshy lips, and muttered under her breath, "Better." Then her voice took on its normal, commanding tone: "Sit."

Johanna sat on the elegant French chair in front of her vanity, closing her eyes to her reflection as Mrs. Collins picked up the silver brush and began to run it through Johanna's curls. When the housekeeper stopped, Johanna did not open her eyes. She shuddered as she felt Mrs. Collins place a cool string of pearls around her neck. Johanna finally opened her eyes, only to look down at her hands in her lap, pointedly avoiding the sight of herself in the mirror.

"You look lovely, miss," the upstairs maid offered timidly, giving Johanna a shy, genuine smile. Johanna would have smiled back at the girl's kindness if she weren't so paralyzed with fear and regret.

"We must go, Miss Johanna," Mrs. Collins interrupted the moment's calm with her authoritative voice. "Or you'll be late."

"And wouldn't that be the worst thing," Johanna thought ironically. In reality, she merely nodded and stood, not sparing the upstairs maid a second glance.

She followed Mrs. Collins back downstairs, taking deep breaths to keep from fainting and to keep the contents of her stomach down. Mrs. Collins opened the front door, making the noise echo loudly in the cavernous entry hall. There was a sense of finality of the door opening, and then being slammed behind the two of them as they walked towards the carriage that was waiting. Johanna felt the door slamming akin to a guillotine blade making its final descent. Though she knew she would be back in only an hour or two, the thought gave her little comfort or security.

Johanna hesitated before entering the carriage. A firm hand on her back from Mrs. Collins guided her on. Johanna sat on one side of the carriage near the window, gazing out at all the people walking along the sidewalks.

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Johanna felt distinctly uncomfortable in front of the church. She had been going to mass at least twice a week at St. Mary's since before she could remember, but for some reason, she felt like she was entering another prison. The statues gazed down at her, their saintly hands extended in what was supposed to be a gesture towards salvation. Johanna was only aware of how blank their eyes were, and how their faces seemed to be expressions of condemnation. It was as if they knew exactly what everyone's sins were, and that they were indeed going to hell.

"How appropriate," Johanna thought as she thought of everyone in the church being damned. As Mrs. Collins ushered her inside, Johanna's eyes fell on the church's few occupants. She took in the sight of the unbelievably flawed men in front of her: her groom, a Beadle, and a priest that she knew to be less than holy. They all eyed her possessively.

Her groom's gaze was probing and raping, making Johanna's stomach lurch again. She did not want to look beautiful for him. If she had had her way, she would have purposely appeared ugly and disheveled this morning, making him want to back out of the marriage. She was perceptive enough to know when she was being used, when she was being viewed as a mere object or possession rather than a person with a heart and soul. Johanna felt certain her eyes were blank and her skin deathly pale during the brief ceremony, but no one seemed to mind. No one seemed to care than the bride wished that she were dead; that at that very moment, she was planning on taking poison as soon as she could obtain some.

"Dearly beloved…"

The strongest urge Johanna had ever felt gripped her. She wanted to run, to flee the church and never look back. Never mind that she could never make it on the streets by herself. She would be willing to prostitute herself if it meant getting out of that bloody church.

"Say something, anything," Johanna thought to herself wildly. "Tell them you're really a whore, that you're not a virgin, that you aren't worthy. You're a bastard child, after all."

"…In sickness and in health…"

"You're insane. You're terribly ill. You're certain that you have consumption."

"…So long as you both shall live…"

"You've a lover. You're tainted. Unclean. For God's sake, say something!"

All too soon, Johanna became aware that the service was over. She had no been allowed to give her own answer. She felt the world fall away from her feet as her groom looked at her expectantly. Expecting what? Time and space went away. Johanna was only aware of how she had always thought of Lucifer in Paradise Lost as looking exactly like Judge Turpin.

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Okay, so no Sweeney or Lovett; don't worry, they get a whole chapter to themselves next. I know there's little to go on so far, but please leave a review letting me know if you're intrigued or not.