Hello loves. This is the first multi-chapter I've attempted to write, and I'm going through a bit of writer's block, so I figured I'd get some feedback on what I do have.

I still do not own Sweeney Todd or Eleanor Lovett. Though I would do naughty, naughty things to both of them if I did own them.

This is, of course, based on the Depp/Bonham-Carter interpretations. Though I think the original and the revival are both amazing casts...they just aren't...well...they're not as sexy. /

On with the story!

She missed the oven.

She wasn't entirely sure how she'd managed it, at first. After all, she had been terribly caught up in him, how warm and passionate he seemed, twirling around in a Devil's waltz.

Then she had realized where they were headed. She acted on impulse, she supposed. When he threw he toward the fire, she had somehow caught hold of the edge, and pulled herself out.

She then fell to the floor, in a pool of blood which she was certain wasn't her own. She laid there and cradled her hand, which was now severely burnt, and tried to gather some energy before Sweeney realized she had not burned to a crisp in the oven and he tried to kill her a second time.

Luckily, she was helped by the fact of Sweeney's trance-like obsession with Lucy's body. She suspected that he hadn't even really noticed she'd escaped, with the way he was calmly cradling Lucy's dead body.

She really hadn't meant any harm. Sure, she could have told Sweeney the truth- that his wife was still alive, but was a babbling, homeless, prostitute shell of the Lucy he had known. Her hair wasn't even yellow anymore; the years had turned it a rather sickening shade of grey, one that looked like it belonged more on the end of a mop than on the head of a human.

Still, it was yellow Sweeney saw then. She could tell, by the look in his eyes, that it was his Lucy, his songbird that he was seeing. He didn't see the withered woman she had become; only the beauty she had been.

She huffed slightly at this. He had always only seen the good in Lucy. She was a sweet girl around him, true. But if only he had seen...

The presence of another entering the room caught both of their attention. She saw Toby grab the razor, still open from Sweeney's attempt on her life, and head for his throat. She couldn't blame the lad; after all, he'd been traumatized, and he probably figured she was dead, what with her screams and the oven door being shut and locked. He was probably out for revenge.

Pity it had to be the boy.

She pulled herself up as quietly as possible, groaning slightly at her protesting joints. She reached down to the floor beside her and grabbed a...femur? Well, it would have to do. She tried her best to imagine she was throwing it for some dog to fetch, and chucked it directly at Toby's head.

It hit him solidly at his temple, and he dropped. She hoped he was knocked out, rather than dead, but didn't have a chance to check.

For Sweeney had just realized she was still alive.

He dropped Lucy's body tenderly (if one can drop something tenderly), and he was after her. He didn't think to grab the blade from the now-bleeding boy, thankfully for her, but instead came after her with a growl of nearly feral viciousness.

He swung at her, and she dove toward Toby. She managed to get to his body quickly, and she grabbed the razor. She folded it, hoping she wouldn't need to use it. She then sidestepped to avoid a now-charging Sweeney, and he hit the wall behind her.

That didn't seem to stop him, though. He came charging after her again, and she ducked as quickly as she could. He caught her hair, however, and laughed, wickedly triumphant as he pulled it.

She screamed, though she hated giving him the pleasure, and started scratching at him to get away. She did free herself, but not without loosing quite a chunk of hair in the process. She clutched her burning scalp with a free hand while she tried to get the razor open with the other. Her hair was now falling about her shoulders and in her face, for his pulling had dislodged her buns, and she struggled to open the razor from behind a veil of auburn curls.

She was panicking, which certainly didn't help, but she suddenly realized that he wasn't coming after her again. She pulled some of the hair out of her eyes to observe him, and was surprised to see the shock in his eyes as he studied her. She could see wheels turning in his head. She didn't understand why until she realized:

Her hair was down.

He stuttered as he spoke his revelation.

"N-nellie? Little Nellie? You...You're Nellie?"

That, my darlings, is what we call a cliffhanger. A shitty one, but one none the less.

Read and review and all that good nonsense. If you must be cruel, be kind about it. 3