I do not own Sweeney Todd.
The splatter of blood, across his face, it paints him red, athwart his lace, how charming? Sole meets metal, the corpse is gone, the man in the chair, in this game a pawn, how delightful? But what of Joanna?
Mrs. Lovett would have a fresh batch of her glorious meat pies ready in the morning, he knew. Made of a man who had been alive no less than one minute ago.
How he despised that woman.
He sometimes wonders of the men he murders so ghastly. If they have families, what lives are they leaving behind? But all of those thoughts are shadowed by the need for revenge.
Nothing but bitter hatred flows through his veins now, masking his ability to do right from wrong. All he does is slaughter.
If only he had his beautiful wife, his gorgeous love...
Poisoned by her own hand, she was.
He would do anything to have his precious in his arms once more, craddling their baby, Joanna.
But now, he slaughters.
