(This is my first attempt at writing for this fandom, and the first fic I've managed to write in a while. Sorry for neglecting my stories recently. I'll try harder.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd, or the characters. As much as I would love to own Mrs. Lovett. Oh, and this fanfic contains femmeslash. Don't like, click 'back'. And then 'back' again if you got here from my profile, since I mostly write slash.
Oh, and in case anybody attacks me for some of the characters' views on same-sex activities, I'll say it now and I'll say it once: their views are not mine. I was trying to show what the view on homosexuality and lesbianism was in that time period (a decidedly negative one, to say the least). If I was homophobic, I'd be afraid of myself. So feel free to get at my plotline, my writing style, spelling, grammar, punctuation, spacing, summary... anything you like, but not that. Please.
Anyway, on with the story...)

And She Was Beautiful

Everyone seems to assume I hate Lucy Barker.

Fair assumption, I s'ppose. After all, with the whole to-do of me neglecting to mention to Mr. Barker (or Mr. Todd, whatever you like) that the poison his wife took hasn't actually killed her, I suppose it might be natural to jump to the conclusion that I can't stand the woman.

-Well, you try being sweetness and light to somebody who throws dead rats at you in the street; and scares away the few customers hungry, lost or stupid enough to consider visiting your shop. Go on. I dare you.

But in my mind, that woman isn't Lucy – she's not the Lucy I knew, once upon a time. I knew her before she was Mrs. Lucy Barker. I knew her when she was little Lucinda Jenkins; the little girl who loved daisies, got upset if a china cup in her little tea set got chipped, and once ran out the house and into the street with only her vest on.

Admittedly, the latter was my idea. And I didn't even wear my vest.

Y'see, although you might not believe it of me, once upon a time I was upper-class - well, my family was, and I didn't have much say in the matter. And Lucy... well, what else could she have been? Pretty, polite, pleasant; she was an adorable baby who grew up into an angelic daughter. Trust me – I know. I grew up with the phrase 'Why can't you be more like Lucinda?' constantly ringing in my ears. And it's not like I was a bad child – spirited, maybe; far too spirited for my stuffy family. But even if I'd been the goody two-shoes daughter everyone had wished I was, I'd have still looked wrong somehow standing beside Lucy. She was perfection incarnate. God knows how we became friends.

We were born within a week of each other - first yours truly, after a two-day labour that damn near killed my mother; then Lu, a straightforward and relatively painless delivery, a good daughter even in birth. Typical. We were our parents' only daughters; myself with two elder brothers, and Lucy an only child – so when we'd reached about eighteen months old (no mean feat in London, even for the upper classes, with times as hard as they were) her parents began to fret that their little angel might suffer without a companion of her own age. Word of mouth reached my own parents, and dear old Mum – ever hungry for a chance to ingratiate herself with those higher than herself on the social ladder – had my long-suffering nursemaid run over the road to the Jenkins household and put forward the idea of their Lucinda and her young charge ("dear little Eleanor") being good company for one another. Her description of me as a proper little cherub seemed to persuade Mr. and Mrs J., and the following day Lucinda and I set eyes on each other for the first time. There she was, toddling round with a mass of golden curls and adorable big blue eyes – and then there was I, a sulky dark-eyed toddler, with frizzy curls that looked even more unruly than usual due to the fact that I'd screamed fit to burst when my poor nurse attempted to comb it earlier on. Chalk and cheese was an understatement – we were opposites of each other. Maybe that's the reason we got on like a house on fire.

I remember that day as the first time anybody called her Lucy. I decided that Lucinda was too much of a mouthful.

After that, we were inseparable. Not a day passed without us spending time together, and if for one reason or another our parents refused us each other's company we'd each to our best to dissuade them from what we viewed as unreserved cruelty – me by throwing a wicked tantrum, and Lucy by pouting and letting her cornflower-blue eyes well up; after which her parents would do whatever their little darling wanted (an skill I helped her grasp, having spent years trying and failing to master it myself). If one of us was sick, the other would visit to cheer up her friend and catch the illness herself, just so that we could be bedridden together. And perhaps the wishes of the adults around us came true, to a degree – Lucy's charm and propriety rubbed off on me (just a bit, mind - I was never going to be delicate), and in turn I passed on a little of my spirit to her. One of us would rarely be without the other, and in spite of our differences we grew up practically joined at the hip. Lucy grew up from a sweet child into a captivating young woman, and I grew up from a feisty child into… well, no real change there. When we got to an age to attract appreciative gazes from the young men passing us on the street – to the disgust of whoever happened to be chaperoning us – we shared the attention, and the flattery or disgust that went along with it.

But it'd always be Lucy they really had their eyes on. She was beautiful.

I wish I could remember the day I first realised that.

Of course, I couldn't admit to this. I was expected to calm down and curb my 'wild' ways – then take the respectable husband my parents chose for me in a proper church ceremony, and spend the rest of my days at home, producing over time a brood of well-behaved grandchildren for dear old Mum to dote on. The same path was laid out for Lucy, only everybody knew that she'd doubtless make a better job of it than I would. But as I grew older, my thoughts were less where they should have been – dreaming of what sort of a husband I'd have, and whether I'd be a good wife; as Lucy did – and more focused on the young woman beside me, my closest friend. I'd spent all my years with my jealousy fighting my affection for her, wishing I could be even half as pretty and graceful and downright bloody lovely as she was, tiring of the sighs and eyes raised to the heavens when gazes slipped from angelic Lucy to my wayward self. Anything I did, Lucy did better – except, of course, for causing trouble, at which I was a regular expert. Although I wholly resented the ill-concealed wish of my parents for me to be more like her; secretly, I too longed for it to happen. I was desperate to bask the glow of praise and adoration that seemed to surround Lu like a halo – not that it ever made her conceited, she was far too sweet-natured for arrogance. But it was a shock for me to realise that I'd somehow made the transition from wanting to be Lucy, to wanting to be…with her. Yet I hid it, buried in the back of my mind the sinful pondering of what Lucy's lips might feel like against my own (how I wished I'd savoured those innocent childhood kisses and embraces!) or how her warm body might feel nestled against my own in a cocoon of rumpled bedding (I knew the 'facts', of course, and I simply swapped the image of Lucy for the nameless, faceless man I'd imagined beforehand). It was perverse, disgusting, and wrong - wrong on every conceivable level. But since when had the mischievous Eleanor Craven ever given a toss about what was wrong or right before?
Giving in to this errant passion, though, had to be the stupidest thing I ever did.

It was a miserable spring evening, and Lucy and I were in my bedchamber (not in that way, much as might I wished for it; you filthy thing!), windswept and rosy-cheeked after a chaperoned stroll around the park. Well, Lucy was windswept and rosy-cheeked, becoming spots of pink on the apples of her soft cheeks. I was just windswept, my unruly hair all in a tangle- even more so than usual, which took some doing. Lu declared that I looked a sight, and persuaded me to let her brush my hair. She perched on my bed; and, as ladylike as ever, I plonked myself down on the floor at her feet, unmindful of my dress as it crumpled beneath me. Lucy giggled.

"You'll spoil that dress, Nellie. Your mother'll go spare" she remarked, as she set about untangling the knots of my wiry hair. I grinned at the informal expression she'd garnered from me, relishing the knowledge that Lucy would only utter such a thing in my company. Around me, who she'd known since I was in the habit of tipping my porridge into my hair, she relaxed. Lapses in etiquette were more than permitted, because it was the only chance we got for them – though I'll admit, I jumped at the chance to drop the 'prim and proper' charade much more readily than Lucy. For her, it wasn't even a charade.

"I don't care," I replied, plucking contemptuously at the material of my skirt- pastel blue, of all colours, and damp from the rain. "I hate this dress," I added morosely.

"You hate all your dresses, Nell" Lucy commented placidly from behind me.

"Except for the black," I reminded her, doing my best not to fidget as I felt the coarse brush against the back of my neck. "Black is… acceptable, I s'ppose".

"You look like a widow in black. Everyone does," was the reply.

"What, even the widows? That's shocking…" I said sarcastically. Lucy sighed, laid a hand gently on my shoulder to keep me still as she continued working the brush through my hair. I shivered involuntarily at the contact – fortunately, Lu misinterpreted that.

"You'll catch a chill if you stay in that dress – we both will. We'd best take them off" she said, laying down the hairbrush and standing up, smoothing her dress as she began to work at the laces of her light pink gown where they accentuated her waist. Getting up myself, with much less grace, I began to tug at my own – however, as usual, Lucy had mastered extricating herself from the hideous things much more quickly than me and I still had trouble. After five minutes, the only sounds those of rustling material and most unladylike grunting from yours truly; I was about ready to scream. Noticing my frustration, Lucy took pity on me.

"Here. Let me," she said, with a smile that made me go weak at the knees. My breath hitched in my throat as I caught sight of her. She had shed her dress and laid it neatly on my bed, with her under corset on top of it and her crinoline and petticoats nearby; meaning that she now stood before me in nothing more than her chemise, drawers, and silk stockings. I had to force myself to look away – her parents were particularly keen on clothes that preserved their daughter's modesty, and with her in nothing more than her unsightlies (though there was nothing unsightly about them whatsoever, nor the girl wearing them) my eyes were free to rove over her body. Feeling decidedly light-headed, I let Lucy unfasten the laces of my dress, her patient hands achieving what my crazed clawing had not - allowing me to finally wriggle free of the bloody thing. With a hasty 'thank you', I turned around until I had my back to my friend to remove the rest of my restricting, constricting garments - to prevent Lucy from seeing my crimson cheeks rather than to hide my body. I had calmed myself by the time I faced her again, but the sight of her set my heart racing. The flawless skin of her arms, the swan-like neck that would have turned a ballerina green with envy and that most appealing swell of her chest beneath her chemise. My fingers itched to reach out and touch the supple body of the girl opposite her, and I longed to feel my flesh against hers, and the heat of her breath against my neck (I may have had no first-hand experience in matters of intimacy, but I'd heard snatches of passing conversations held in hushed voices, and I had a very active imagination). I must have looked dazed, because Lucy tilted her head slightly as she called my name.

"Nellie? Are you feeling alright?" she asked. I managed to smile.

"Yes, Lu… Sorry. That bloody under-corset always makes me a little dizzy" I lied quickly. Lucy shook her head at the vulgarity, but seemed to accept the explanation.

I'd heard the drizzle of our walk increasing to a downpour outside, able to hear the droplets beating against the glass of the window and the cobbled street outside. As Lucy discreetly bent down to adjust her stockings, there was a second's white flare of lightning outside, followed a few moments later by the rumble of thunder. I was distracted enough to blink and look away from Lucy; while she squeaked and covered her face. I laughed.

"Calm down, Lucy. It's only a storm" I said, catching hold of her wrist (I could only hope she missed the way my fingers trembled) and lightly tugging it away from her eyes. She really was afraid, I realised.

"Lightning causes fires, Nellie. You know that" she replied, her voice so quiet I had to lean closer to hear her. I guided her over to the bed, sitting down and then shuffling backwards (such an unladylike action would have made my priggish mother faint in shock) to sit in the middle of the bed. Lucy copied me; eyes trained fearfully on the window in case the heat of an inferno should suddenly shatter the glass and send the room up in flames. I leaned backwards to unfasten the hangings on one side of the bed and pull them to, blocking the window from view. Behind me, I heard the creak of the bed springs and the clink of curtain rings against the tester above our heads, and knew that Lucy was doing the same to the hangings at the opposite side of the bed. Turning back around, it was like we were in a tunnel; with the only light coming from the bare end of the bed. Lucy seemed a good deal calmer with the window blocked from her view.

"Better?" I asked. She nodded, one side of her face obscured by darkness. She was still a stunner, though. I had to fight the impulse to reach out and brush my fingers against the bare skin of her arm as she sighed and glanced in the direction of the window.

"Anna will probably be sent to fetch me, soon" she said sadly - referring to her nurse.

"In that rain? Come of it, Lucy. It'd be just as easy for you to stay a night here" I replied, hoping that my words would become reality. Nothing was more of a treat for me than to spend the entire night in Lucy's company, just for the pleasure of seeing her... alright, seeing her in her nightgown was a nice perk too. To my disappointment, she shook her head.

"Mother wants me to go to lunch with her and Father, and some business friends of his. They have a son… Benjamin… Mother thinks he'd be a suitable husband for me" she said. Immediately, I burned with resentment for this Benjamin; but I feigned interest.

"Well, lucky you! You'll have to tell me whether or not you agree with your mother, afterwards" I said, forcing a playful smile that – for once - I didn't mean. The thought of Lucy meeting potential suitors always made me feel miserable - all down to jealousy, but for two very different reasons.

"Who knows? Perhaps it'll be less boring than the last time…"

"And the time before that" I added. "I really don't see why your parents insist on taking you with them on these meetings when, in the end, we're not going to have a say in who we marry anyway…"

"It's for our own good, Nellie" she answered gently. "And we're both the only daughter and the youngest child in our families… it's natural for them to want to see that we make the right choice".

"But it's not our choice!" I exclaimed, feeling immensely frustrated with the situation. I raised my arms emphatically as if imploring God himself to do something about the unfairness it all, before falling backwards, my bedding cushioning my landing with a soft thump. Laughing at my melodramatic carry-on, Lucy lay back beside me; totally oblivious to the way her nearness to me made my heart flutter like a caged canary. Self-control, Nellie, I reminded myself.

"Don't you think it's unfair that we don't even have a say in who we marry?" I asked Lucy, propping myself up on my elbow. Seeming surprised, my companion shook her head.
"It's just the way things work, Nellie. We shouldn't try to meddle with them" she responded.
"But… what if we don't like the person chosen for us?" I continued, knowing that this was one of Lucy's great concerns about becoming a wife. "I mean, we'll have to spend the rest of our lives stuck with them…"
Lucy considered this, then smiled. "I trust my parents will choose a man truly suitable for me" she answered pleasantly.
I sighed, loving Lucy for her sunny outlook – but at the same time wishing she could see the injustice of it.
"I'd much rather know that I'd be marrying somebody I could have fun with… not that kind of fun, Lucy!" I said, seeing my friend's open-mouthed, scandalised expression (I'd taken it upon myself to pass on everything I knew about what went on in the marital bed to Lucy, who – naturally – had been much more shocked by the revelation than I had been). "Just… somebody whose company I'd enjoy, y'know? Somebody… somebody like…" I trailed off, feeling myself colouring up. Bugger it all. Why now?

Lucy leaned closer, her expression betraying her curiosity. "What? Somebody like...? –Nellie Craven, have you got your eye on somebody?!"
By way of an answer, I leaned forwards and pressed my lips to Lucy's.
Apparently, self-control just wasn't enough.

Lucy's lips were soft and warm– more so than I'd imagined even in my very wildest dreams. I simply stayed like that, my mouth against hers, before I tentatively moved my lips against Lucy's. I'd gone so far already – I decided I might as well make the most of this, the opportunity I'd longed for. I could almost fool myself that Lucy was kissing me back, her lips parting involuntarily as she attempted to move away; but I brought my hand up to cradle her cheek and she stayed put. Not having the foggiest clue what I was doing, I parted my own lips, deepening the kiss. She tasted so sweet, so intoxicating. Is that… cinnamon I can taste? I wondered, but there was little room in my mind for coherent thought. I dared let my tongue dart out, brushing her bottom lip tentatively as I stroked her cheek gently with my thumb; when all of a sudden she pushed me backwards and sat up, shrugging off my hand as she struggled free of my embrace.

We remained silent for a long moment, sitting upright and staring at each other. She looked confused, almost frightened; and I instantly regretted what I'd just done.

"Nellie – you – I – what was that?" she stammered, backing away slightly as if I might pounce on her.

"I… Lucy, I'm sorry. Truly, I am. I… don't know what came over me" I managed. Apparently, this response didn't satisfy; because Lucy scrambled backwards until she collided with the hangings pulled around the side of my bed. Reaching back, one hand flailing at the bedpost until she gripped the curtain, she pulled it back to its original position, enabling her to get off the bed- putting as much distance between the two of us as she could, I realised.

"Nellie… you had your lips to mine. That's a… a kiss! That's for a married husband and wife only!" she exclaimed – her voice somewhat hushed, however, lest my parents, nurse or brothers come barrelling in to investigate. She was shaking a little, and I could see how much my kiss had rattled her. I did my best to hide how hurt I was as I got off the bed myself and stood up, meaning to comfort Lucy. However, she raised her hands as if I might strike her, taking two quick steps backwards.

"Don't come any closer, Nell" she said. The pleading, petrified note in her voice made me burn with remorse; and I bowed my head, stepping backwards.

"Lucy…" I tried. "Lucy, I'm sorry. It was a moment of madness – I don't know what was wrong with me. It'll never happen again, Lu; I swear it…" However, I didn't dare look at her. The rustle of material that eventually broke the silence told me that Lucy was dressing again.

"Nellie, what you did is a sin! It's against God… it's against- against everything! We're two young women… we're not supposed to engage in such... such conduct," she protested, her voice shaking.

"It wasn't you, Lucy. It was all me. But it'll never happen again…"

"But it's already happened, Nellie!" came the frantic response, as she struggled to tie the laces of her dress with her trembling fingers. I didn't dare offer to assist her. "I don't do… such things! And neither should you! I'm a good girl – I'm a proper girl!"

"I know, Lucy!"

"Then why – why?" she asked, now tugging her dress boots onto her feet. She glanced up at me for a moment, and the distressed look on her face almost broke my heart. Unable to help myself, I rushed to her, desperate to calm her down – however, she took my advance the wrong way. Slapping at my outstretched hand, she ran past me with a cry; heading for my bedchamber door.

"Lucy, please!" I begged, my voice hitching on a sob. I couldn't bear the look of fear and hatred in the eyes of the girl who, only a few minutes ago, had been my closest friend.

"Don't touch me, Nell!" Already in tears, Lucy was out of my bedroom door and halfway down the stairs in a heartbeat; all thoughts of the unseemliness of running through somebody else's home apparently forgotten. And despite the fact that I was barefoot and still in my underclothes, I ran after her. By the time I got down the stairs, Lucy had opened her umbrella and run out the front door; halfway across the road to her own house. I had no umbrella, no shoes, and barely any clothes; but still I followed – in any other situation, the similarity to my childhood naughtiness would have been hilarious - at least, until my mother and brothers caught up with me. My mother looked ready to die of shame as her daughter had to be lifted bodily and carried, kicking and struggling, back into the house; screaming "Lucy! LUCY!" until her throat was raw. I don't think she ever forgave me for that display.

Sod her. I never liked my mother much anyway.

My family declared me ill, that being the only explanation they could think up for my behaviour; and the doctor they sent for declared me hysterical. I spent three days in bed 'to collect myself', but I spent most of that time crying. Funny, that – I'd never been one for tears before, not even when I was tiny. Screaming? Yes. Stamping my feet? Gotcha. Throwing things? On the odd occasion. Tears? Not a chance. But I had a good reason to cry – I'd never felt so distraught, so totally beside myself. Knowing that I'd lost Lucy –and not only that, that I'd made her hate me so much – made me feel physically sick. It didn't help that it was the first time I'd ever been ill and not had Lucy come and visit me – not that I expected her to. So I cried until my head was banging, my eyes were red and swollen and my pillow was damp with tears. Once my confinement to bed was over, I washed my blotchy face and dressed, dreading the moment Lucy and I would be forced to meet again. But to my surprise, there came a knock at my bedchamber door, and at my dull "Come in", the very face I'd been dreading having to look at appeared at the door.

"…Hello?" I said, hesitantly and more than a little awkwardly. To my shock, Lucy came up to me and put her arms around me. A tiny, hopeful part of me dared to imagine she was about to kiss me; but she merely embraced me, then let go. Drat.

"I'm so glad you're feeling better," she said, with a smile. I studied her face – no trace of fear or revulsion in those pretty eyes. In truth, she seemed happier than usual. A moment's thought gave me my answer – she believed that the kiss was all a part of my illness, and that I hadn't been in my right mind when I did it. Misery washed over me, but I downed it quickly. If this façade let me keep her, even only as a friend, I was perfectly content to play the part.

"Thank you, Lucy. I wasn't myself at all… it came on me so sudden…" I responded. She only smiled even wider, blue eyes sparkling, skin glowing. She looked radiant, quivering with excitement – as her near-constant companion of fifteen years, I could tell. I eyed her suspiciously.

"What's got into you?" I asked. My only answer was a blush. And then, with a cold rush of dismay that didn't at all match the smile I forced onto my face, I had a faint inkling what the cause of her happiness might have been.

"…Am I to take it that the meeting with Benjamin was a success?" I asked, praying to God that I was wrong. Lucy gave a squeal of glee, clasping my hands and positively leaping onto my bed, tugging me down to sit beside her.

"Yes –oh Nellie, yes! He's everything I could ever wish for in a suitor… tall, handsome, with the most magnificent dark eyes, gentlemanly in his manners, and he seems very hard-working too… He's a year older than us, a barber, and apparently an artist at his work – he only has a very small shop, but he plans to move to a larger one soon – and he earns a good wage, more than enough to keep a wife comfortable with." Her eyes were bright with excitement, as I ran the last sentence through my mind again; with a fake gasp of equally fake delighted surprise that had me wondering if I'd missed my calling as an actress.

"You're to be married?" I enquired, unable to believe this could all have happened so quickly. Lucy nodded, seeming dazzled by her own good fortune.

"This time next year at the very latest – our parents want to set things in order for us, and Benjamin wants to make sure his house will be suitable for me – wherever we live, his current home or the one he wants to buy... I can scarcely believe it - I've been saying it over and over to try and make it sink in… I'm engaged! And of course, Nellie, you'll be my bridesmaid?"

My name startled me out off what must have been a state of shock, and I let out a laugh – no real humour, just an outburst of emotion.
"Oh, Lucy – I'd love to! It'd be such an honour… I'm thrilled for you, Lu, I really am. To think that in a year or less, you'll have a home and husband – and a year after that, maybe a baby and all!" I paused for a minute, feeling my throat constrict with the tears that threatened, before adding "You really do deserve all this good luck, Lucy."

I think she interpreted my pause as worry that I'd be left a spinster. She squeezed my hand as she reassured me "Don't worry, Nell. You'll be engaged soon, too, I promise".

I nodded mutely, afraid than any further words might betray the feeling of horror I felt at the idea of the woman I loved being married off, our hours spent together suddenly gone with her wifely duties taking precedence. And what of the other 'duties' she'd have, as a lawfully wedded wife…? Bile rose in my throat as I imagined this nameless, faceless man in bed with her. Perhaps it was selfish, but the thought of somebody else taking if I couldn't her left me cold.

However, as it turned out, Lucy's well-meant words of comfort became true. Once Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins broke the news of Lucy's engagement, my parents became resolute in their mission to have me married off. My hysterical episode had mortified them, and they were determined to find me a husband to tame me. I have a feeling Albert was the first suitable man they found, and they just agreed at once in their haste to have a 'proper woman' made of their wilful daughter. They didn't even ask me to meet him until it had been decided. The first time we laid eyes on each other, we were already engaged. Lucy was thrilled for me, and I tried – in the interests of keeping up the charade, and thereby keeping our friendship – to imitate her excitement as our wedding dates drew near. Our friendship strengthened as we compared bridal gowns, posies and plans for our futures. My parents were happy, Lucy was happy, Benjamin was happy (well, with Lucy as a fiancé, who wouldn't be?), Albert… well, Albert always looked a bit bored, but who knows? I was the only miserable one, which just left me feeling even more lost.

And then Lucy became Mrs. Barker, the barber's wife; and I became Mrs Lovett, the baker's wife (in a ceremony that, compared to Lucy's, seemed downright pathetic). The only good thing I could find in the whole sorry mess of my hurried marriage was that, by some miracle, the new shop Mr. Barker had bought was right above where Albert already worked – so at least Lucy and I wouldn't be far apart. The downside was that I had to see every day how happy Lucy was in her marriage, while all I felt in mine was dissatisfaction. Albert was pleasant enough to begin with – before he hit the bottle, at least - but he bored me, and my restlessness irritated him. I felt wicked- and not just for that reason. It would have been one thing to covet another woman's husband, but to still carry a torch for somebody else's wife? Confused and miserable, it took me a long time to adjust to married life.

On the other hand, Lucy's marriage went from strength to strength - and then she found out she was expecting. I couldn't help but be happy for her. She really was his now, I knew, even if I was having a hard time accepting it - and they were both so thrilled. Finally, I began to force my love for her deeper down inside me, and concentrate on my daily life – working in the bakery, and cooking and cleaning for Albert. (Whenever did my life get so monotonous?) Johanna arriving clinched it. They had the perfect life, the perfect family. What kind of wicked creature would you be to interfere with that? I asked myself.

But I couldn't stop my heart skipping in pleasure when I heard her coming down the stairs to our little shop; or from stopping in the middle of a stroll with her and baby Johanna to gaze at her and, in my head, call her 'my Lucy'- even though I knew she never would be.

She was his. And she was beautiful.

And, fifteen years later - widowed now, with the Lucy I had known and adored disintegrated into a demented beggar who no longer knew my name - I can't help but hope that I might find something of the woman I loved left in her husband.

It's all I have left to hold on to.

(Um... does anybody who bothered to read to the end of that have any feedback? I'm sorry if it sucks as much as I think it does - it's the first idea I've managed to write a fanfic with in ages. And I don't think I come close to doing the character of Mrs. Lovett justice. And it doesn't make much sense, either. Not much going for it. But... yeah. I don't really have anything else to say. Review,si quieres. Or not...)