Notes by the author: GAH. Haven't been in a flowing, nice writing mood in a while. But I had a need to write this down... excuse the childishness of the words. For some reason I had a hard time getting my thoughts down into words... but anyway, this is one of my first Sweeney Todd fanfics. It features the confused female servant of Judge Turpin who's horrific childhood causes her to think differently than the rest of world around her. Her strange love and affection for the Judge Turpin slowly changes as she meets Anthony Hope and Tobias Ragg, and later Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney Todd. Kind of another character who needs to figure out their life and make sense of their surroundings. Chapter One is a terrible job on my part, I just can't seem to "open up" the story. Chapter Two will be better, I assure.

I do not own any of the Sweeney Todd characters of course, or the plot. I am just inserting my own character (Nina) into the plot... into which.... that.... I do not.... own.

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Chapter One -- Misunderstood

"He killed him... he killed him..." she wouldn't stop repeating herself. Breathless gasps and uncontrollable sobs filled the room with unwanted noise, and it took all the strength I had to keep from losing my calm demeanor.

"No. No, he didn't kill him." I replied for the third time, running my fingers through the blonde girl's hair like I thought a mother would. It didn't seem to help.

The pale-faced Johanna looked up at me with those striking blue eyes, tears giving her cheeks a shiny glow before the candlelight.

She broke free from my grasp, staring at the carpeted floor with a haunted look on her face. I sighed a slow breath, my lip quivering with suppressed grief. I clutched my hands into fists, finding it difficult to keep from crying myself, though I wish I could. But I knew that shedding even one tear would send Johanna into a heightened fear, and at which I did not feel any energy to reassure her any further.

Relaxed by the sudden silence, I glanced hopefully at Johanna. To my dismay, tears were still running down her face and dripping off her chin.

Silently.

"Please, miss. I was there. Master Turpin did not kill the boy..." I said, reminiscing on the dreadful event that occured earlier that day. That sailor boy with the long brown hair and the tattered clothing who came by the mansion this morning. From what I gathered, he was taking a peek at Johanna and was punished severely for it. Beaten to the ground by the Beadle's cane. Bright rubies glistened on the stone ground that escaped from his mouth, frightening me to no end. I've heard of the Master and the Beadle murdering men for a cause, but never before had I witnessed it.

No, no. The boy didn't die. Nevertheless, I feared for the inevitable future.

"But you said the Beadle was after him with the club!" she cried. I silenced her by gently placing a hand over her mouth.

"Quiet, miss. You realize I'm supposed to be in bed!" I hissed. "And yes, the Beadle did beat him. But he didn't kill 'im."

She nodded, but I wasn't quite sure if she understood. I shook my head slightly, exhausted and wishing for some sleep. But, alas, I could not leave Johanna with bad thoughts on her mind.

"Besides," I attempted to break the distressing silence, "what have you got to think 'bout him anyway? He's only a sailor. He's got nothing to do with any of us."

Her face changed dramatically. Her lips bent into a frown and her eyes closed. Her eyebrows were pulled down in a frustrated manner, and the way she spoke provoked my heart to beat quickly.

"Of course not. No one outside of this stupid place means anything to me." she stood up and snatched down her bedsheets, angrily preparing herself for sleep. I stood and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, yet she pulled away.

"Johanna, please. I didn't mean it that way - "

"But it's true." she turned to face me, her eyes wide and fearful. She stood at least six inches taller than me, so I had to raise my head to look into those eyes.

"London does not know me, and I do not know London. I only know this place." she bit her lip and then lay in the bed, waving a hand for me to leave.

I knew what she said was true, but I thought that it was something to be proud of. I took the candle into my hands, bid her good night, and left her room. I was now finally free to feel my sad emotions, but they were now stagnant. My mind was now clouded with confusion.

I did not understand why a person who could have anything, anything they wanted, appreciated nothing.