His fingers move across the incision slowly, and she shivers underneath his touch, infatuated even in the face of death. He wants her to suffer, to feel the blood drip down her neck like ephedrine through her veins.
He holds his weapon of choice in his favored hand, wary of the fact that he has come full circle in this crimson affair. Minus a hazily appreciated companion, he is unscathed. The cut on his thumb, the sign of the sharpness of his blade, will now scar over and forget.
Her eyes plead with him for forgiveness, all she wants is to die without the weighing guilt of hypocrisy that he's burdened her with. He looks at her with disgust, like a human upon a spider, along with a palpitant fear. As if he's still afraid of what she's capable of. She parts her lips as if in truce, a gentle crimson stream licking her chin, and mutters through pain.
"I do apologize for the blood on your shirt, Mister Todd. It'll stain something awful."
He lets her words float through his head like her ghost.
A/N: I got Notes From the Past, and old Taking Back Sunday CD, and the line "The truth is that you could slit my throat, and with my one last gasping breath, I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt," really reminded me of Sweeney Todd. :)
So, the inspiration comes from Taking Back Sunday's song You're So Last Summer. I'm going to see them on Friday along with My Chemical Romance, and I'm basically freaking out at this point.
Disclaimer: Sweeney Todd is belonging to Tim Burton.