I love Sweeney Todd; the music is so delightfully morbid, and...well, so is the subject matter. Even though I can't imagine a better ending, I was very upset with it. I have a total crush on Mrs. Lovett, see, and I didn't want her to die. However, it did end that way, and this is a little exploration. Also, I'm sorry for the frightfully uncreative title. I'm terrible with titles.

Something to keep in mind: the mind can think much faster than it can read. All of this is happening in maybe ten seconds. Maybe. Most likely less.

I don't own Sweeney Todd (or Mrs. Lovett – sigh). I'm just looking at it. I promise I'll put it back when I'm done.

Up in Flames

Mouth open in a scream, eyes wide in shock, Nellie Lovett doesn't process the heat at first. Some other time, in another life perhaps, she might laugh and say it's always like that – some pain is too painful to notice until it's too late.

(Mrs. Lovett will make the worst pies in London. She's too tough on the outside, and too sloppy on the inside.)

It's with a sort of cynical finality, when she sees the glint of his eyes through the window, that she comes to accept it. Welcome it, even. She always dreamed of Sweeney Todd and heat – this way was never in her imagination, but she can't have him, so perhaps it's better this way.

(His obsession has always made her burn in all the wrong ways.)

Somewhere between giving him a purpose and turning the townsfolk into cannibals, she should have realized there's a certain kind of madness even love can't touch. The kind of madness sprung from love, from lost love and –

(She'd thought his affectionate Mrs. Lovetts and my dears had meant something.)

Her throat is already starting to hurt from the screaming and inhaling, she realizes. Her body is screaming, too – but this is nothing like burning her hand on the outside of the oven. It's as though the flames aren't really there at all. It's as though the pain isn't really there.

(But oh, it's dreadfully hot in here.)

Mr. Todd could never love her. He could never love anyone, stuck in that madness. She should have discerned the difference from intensity. She should have been more careful. She should have slipped away in secret and made meat pies out of Lucy before she could ruin things.

(But she'll never regret lying by omission. Sometimes some time is better than no time, even if it means ending up in hell.)

There is only pain, now. She can't tell if it's outside or if it's inside, but it doesn't matter. Mr. Todd will never love her.

(It's less painful to die.)