AN: God, so little of Lucy and so much of Sweeney, Lovett, and everyone else!
Here's to you, Lucy, you poor gal! May you not be torn apart by some crazy fangirls that want Sweeney for themselves.
Freaking ... goodness.
Anyways, here it is. n.n Enjoy!
For 15 years, she watched her child grow up. Yet, Lucy could not hold her.
She was trapped: her dearest Johanna trapped in the rapist's home. Curse Turpin! Curse him!
Every day, Lucy donned tattered and battered rags to beg for donations from kind people in London. Every day, she could see her growing daughter at the window doing crafts to pass the time.
Lucy, with sadness filling her beautiful blue eyes, looked upon Johanna. She grew up to be a lovely young lady: the image of her mother—Lucy Barker. Herself. Yet, Johanna would never know who her mother was. Or her father. This knowledge pained Lucy; it sent a dart through her heart.
"Alms, alms! For a miserable woman ..." Maybe acting crazy would hide her pain. Yes, yes. No one would know. No one would see the hurt she felt every single second. They would only see her as a mad, poor hag. This suited her fine.
However, she dared not enter. She dared not to attempt rescue. Over time, when the want to be suitors came from the back, she noticed one thing: blood. Blood stained their backs, came out of their mouths, and from the head. For this one reason, she was kept at bay from rescuing her daughter.
For 15 years, she watched her child grow up. Each day drove her madder and madder.
One day, she would be free. One day.