A/N:

Hey there, Happy Chapter Ten! Thanks for the reviews and favorites and such. They really make my day. Im a little uneasy about this chapter, so i would really love some feedback. :D.

Without further ado!
.ivory.

chapter x

Satisfied Enough to Dream

Benjamin was always so kind…

Solitude can do terrible things to people; ravage their mind from the inside and tear their psyche to shreds. Eleanor knew that better than anyone, but there was a sort of determination behind her ever moving fingers that caused her to forget. At least for a moment. A moment experienced and deserved for the loneliness she'd suffered.

He was shy… but it only made him more endearing…

Nellie was a strong woman; who else would have the will to sit in their basement with butcher knife in hand, staring at the body waiting to be cut up? She surely couldn't think of anyone. Not even Violet would have the stomach for this sort of job, she could see it in her face the moment she'd descended the stairs. Cheeks pale white and fright clearly written in her cool blue eyes; no, she couldn't have done it. Eleanor, in response, had tried to seem calm, nonchalant about her deed, but as always her emotions betrayed her.

He was a skilled sort of artist, but not prideful... humble. She liked that…

It was all for him, she thought, squeezing her brown eyes shut; he would see that she can be useful and be grateful to her in return. And then… maybe Mr. Todd would return her love that she'd harbored for so many years…

He was beautiful…

Violet Blackwell stood motionless as the sun set below the thick clouds, casting the barber shop into a midnight gloom. She stared at the lifeless corpse of the man who, so many years ago, had saved her life. His body was crumpled into a heap, like a broken doll; jaw slack, eyes glassy, all traces of madness had melted away with his quickly evaporating spirit. The fisherman's blood was pooled around her feet, seeping into her boots.

He was starting to smell.

And there was nothing… absolutely no emotion coursing through her heart. For the first time in years she felt a strong urge to cry, the sweet release of giving up completely. But no matter how much she wanted to, tears refused to come; it was born from years of practice, and now even she couldn't reverse its affects. Slowly, with shaking fingers, she lifted her hands up to the quickly fading light, the blood still clearly visible. It hadn't felt so hollow when Pirelli's life had been cut short, but there had been a sort of accomplishment there, beating back against a blackmailer, but now…

Why had she really killed this man?

A tearless sob bubbled in Violet's throat as she forced herself to accept it. She had done it just for the sake of driving his spirit from his body with a wrathful lust.

Just because she had wanted to.

And that scared her more than anything.

Violet lifted her red fingers to her lips, allowing a few drops of blood to trickle onto her tongue, salty and growing steadily cooler. She shut her eyes, utterly terrified of her capable madness.

"You look cold."

Violet ripped her eyes open, biting down on her fingers as she caught sight of the barber in the doorway, his face calm, but grim. She wondered how long he'd been standing there. Minutes? Hours? It felt like years since the moment she'd plunged the deadly end of a spade into a madman's belly.

"I'm not." The florist croaked, which was a lie, she was freezing.

For a moment it looked as though he would step forward, or wrap ungrateful arms around her shaken figure. But no, Sweeney Todd would never do something like that, he was a demon, and demons don't comfort fearful murderers. Instead he stared at her, arms folded, brow lowered; as if waiting for her to express just how raving mad she could be.

With a small noise of distress, Violet ripped her fingers out of her mouth, cleaned of claret.

Yet the silence stretched on, and he showed no signs of breaking it.

For the first time, she allowed herself to truly examine him: the curve of his thin mouth, and cheek bones that could be made of marble; all beneath the dominant feature of his coal black eyes. She thought he must get tired of always appearing both infinitely grim and infinitely bitter all at once. But knew immediately that he had no choice, fallen prey to a grief that could not be lifted; no matter how long he lived.

There was something heavy in his gaze, as if he were trying to figure her out, understand her like no one else had; but annoyed that he couldn't see past her hard exterior. She felt a rush of longing, why couldn't she understand him either? Know him? Memorize the thoughts that ran through his head every day? And another painful realization that she wanted to know so desperately she'd die for it.

But why?

Say something, she begged from her thoughts, tell me it's not my fault. Tell me that I'm not mad, and I had a right to defend myself. That this man was nothing more than a threat against our plan. Tell me that everything's going to be alright, even though it's not. That abandoning this woman inside of me is useless because she doesn't exist anymore, that Isabel.

Heal me, Mr. Todd, even when we both know you're only capable of granting pain.

These thoughts heightened her fear; she had to be mad to think thoughts, and with a burst of frustration, she forced her way passed him, meaning to go directly into her room. If only she could get away from him-

His hand clamped down on her wrist, forcing her to a complete stop.

"Let go of me!" Miss Blackwell hissed pathetically, "Let me go, I said!"

He wouldn't, face calm and impassive as he stared down his nose at her. There was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before, something that both frightened and excited her all at once. Unfamiliar with this man was always something to be nervous about. Something to be feared; heaven above, this man was already damned by nature.

She struggled for a moment, but not for long. Violet found herself tugging halfheartedly away, her idiotic and foolish mind focusing only on how lovely his skin felt, and that she truly didn't mind him touching her.

And there was that unholy ache once more, that strange animal instinct where her body simply acted for her. No thought, no consequence, no meaning to her actions, just as she had towards the fisherman moments before she snuffed out his life. But this had different intensions, something that flowered in her chest like a seedling bursting into one complete decision.

Without her mind's consent, Violet stepped forward and pressed her lips against his.

She could feel the shock rush through his body so violently he released her wrist, arms outstretched at his sides like a guilty child. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting, hoping he'd respond as she worked gently, without heat or impatience. The tension in the barber's arms was tangible, and she immediately suspected him to throw her off; to scream and curse at her for even daring to touch him so intimately.

But he didn't.

He simply let the kiss happen, neither responding nor rejecting; but allowed her to embrace him without alarm or anger. He was stiff, and uncomfortable, she could see that, and after a while she wrapped her arms around his neck; hoping to persuade him. The musty smell of wood and shaving cream wafted off his clothes and filtered around her, venting into her cells, and mixing with the slippery blood that copied itself onto his white shirt.

It could only have lasted a moment, but it felt like blissful hours.

How long had it been since she'd felt so gentle, wanted this so freely? It felt nice for just this one moment, just this one taste of relief before she went back to slaughtering and killing and feeding the underlings their own flesh. When would this ever happen again?

"When I return from the ordeal with Father, I promise. It will be a joy."

…

Nate.

Nate.

Violet leaned back, releasing herself, and after a brief pause, shoved him away violently; hands planted on his chest as he stumbled back a few steps. She grunted with the effort, anger exploding out of her eyes with the madness and disbelief of what she was doing.

Hell below, what had she been thinking!

Sweeney's brow furrowed in bewilderment, lips pressed together in a hard line as he seemed to come back to his senses. He opened his mouth to say something, an angry retort, she thought, or something just as bitter as he always had. She could tell from the outrage in his face. But she only pressed her fists into her mouth and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Violet searched madly for the iron key, and upon finding it on the counter she reached for it; hands shaking so badly she dropped it to the wooden floor. He yelled something at her, but she didn't hear it.

How could she do this!

Violet crammed the key in the lock and twisted, throwing it to the floor as soon as it was secured. She bit her lip without mercy, anything to stop the tingling achieved from her ridiculous stunt.

Didn't she love Nathaniel? Wasn't that why she was here?

Violet stumbled her way to the bed, collapsing on the thin mattress as despair pressed down on her.

You fool!

In the dream, Violet wandered along a never ending hallway.

There was a plush red carpet beneath her bare feet, contrasting violently against the pale white of her flesh. The walls were made of thick wooden planks, splintering and hung with photos of families without faces. Briefly, she wondered who they were, and why they were without eyes to see, but then she forgot, and continued on her way.

Eventually she stopped to access a doorway on her right.

To her surprise she entered a place filled with flowers, and the sweet smell of early spring. Potted buds and rows of soft green plants, enjoying the sunlight that fell streaming in from the open sky; it was familiar in every sense of the word. Isabel's flower shop.

Ahead of her, she could see a tall man with curling black hair cut just above his ears, a single rose his hand as he plucked the petals from its stem. Beside him was a tall woman with light blond hair that fell to her hips in waves of sunlight, her white bonnet like a halo around her perfect face. A child was held in her arms, rocking slightly as it slept in silent bliss, despite her delighted laughter at something the man had said.

'She's an angel,' Violet thought.

But even as she watched the man crushed the bud in his hand, blood stemming from its core and drizzling down his hand as its life was stripped away. It was forgotten that the woman had a child, and suddenly her hands were empty; her life draining as fast as the rose itself. Her skin retracted, cheeks hollowing and eyes sinking far into the back of her head, hands became wrinkled and pained as they clutched at her chest.

'An Angel is dying,' Violet thought as she watched.

The pretty lady fell to the floor in a heap, her skin shriveling up to nothingness like an old grape until nothing remained but bleached white bones. The man stared down at her, a look of compete grief twisting his features beyond recognition, and threw the remains of the rose to the ground, resembling more of a bloody heart than a flower.

"But true apothecary," he said softly, "thy drugs art quick… thus with a kiss I die."

Unable to take the sadness, Violet turned away, finding more interest back into the hallway, and shutting the door behind her. And after a moment, she forgot the scene entirely.

But it was not the hallway and its faceless portraits that she found herself, but in a butcher shop, red paint splattering the walls and a coppery smell coming to reach her nose. In the center of the room was a table, drenched in scarlet and hanging with an assortment of meats and other unidentifiable organs. Even as she watched, flowers and daisies and all other types of flowers sprung from the rotten flesh, flourishing to great heights and blooming like they never had before.

A woman stood over them, a butcher knife in hand, chopping in a loud even succession. It was Nellie, she thought, or at least she guessed; it was hard to tell when everything seemed so red. Violet approached her slowly, unable to feel any fear for the disturbing display before her.

"These violent delights have violent ends," Eleanor said warningly, meeting Violet with bright burgundy eyes, "and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume." And with that she turned and lifted a tray full of raw meat, placing it into the oven behind her. Uncommonly hot flames spurted around her, singing the edges of her fraying dress.

Violet cocked her head to the side, opening her mouth to reply but found she had no words. Nellie pointed across the room, and the lady turned to see what she referred too.

In the corner of the shop rose an open grave, soft soil piled on all sides with a spade embedded within. Violet approached it curiously, squinting her eyes at the tombstone which on it read in bold script:

She that is struck blind cannot forget the precious treasure of her eyesight lost.

Violet peered into the grave, and for the first time since dreaming, found herself imbedded with a deep seeded fear. For inside the mass grave was Isabel, lying on her side, slightly curled, wrapped in her wedding dress. She was beautiful, with pale white skin and full lips, brown hair wild about the soil in which she was planted so delicately. Her pale blue eyes flashed open.

Violet gasped and backed away, the back of her hand pressed to her lips in horror. So great was her fear, that it was remarkable that she remained asleep.

Isabel rose to her feet, smiling in a way that she never would have smiled in life.

"What are you doing, Violet? Why do you crave after him so? Meager are his looks, sharp misery has worn him to bones. He too is mourning his Angel, so should you do the same. But how have you forgotten Nathaniel so quickly? If you forget entirely, would you not murder Richard for his misdeed?"

It was then that Isabel began to cry, tears pouring down her porcelain cheeks like beads of clear glass; and it was a pain to see such a lovely creature weep. Violet backed away even further, tripping on the uneven soil; Isabel had never died, still alive after so long of thinking she was gone. Violet begged her dead.

Isabel sobbed, "Why have you forgotten him!" Pointing a delicate finger, she indicated the tomb stone directly to her left, something that Violet had not noticed before.

And there, sitting within the cold dirt was a slab of stone and engraved upon it were the words,

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead.
Nathaniel James Turpin

It was then that Violet awoke screaming.

Violet Blackwell awoke with the moth-eaten pillow in her mouth, muffling her screams as she bit down on it with fear. As always, it took a few moments before she could face reality once more; a few moments before the sunlight streaming through the window seemed real, the cotton sheets beneath her sweaty fingers belonging to her sane mind.

The lady bit down on her tongue as she slowly rose to a sitting position, hands pressed to her temples as she willed her pulse to slow to a healthy speed.

What had that been? A nightmare, most assuredly, but even as she struggled to remember the details, they slipped through her fingers the harder she tried to grasp them. But she knew it had been fearful indeed. It had been a while since a terror of that magnitude had entered her mind, most likely stemmed from her panic attack that had gripped her before she fell into unconsciousness.

Upon remembering the waking world, she curled her legs up to her chest, wishing more than anything that the hours before had too been a meaningless nightmare. But the blood that stiffened Nellie's dress wouldn't fade, and the faint smell of his musty cologne on her collar only confirmed her fears.

Her hands transferred themselves to her eyes, squeezed shut.

What had she done?

She had kissed the Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

Slowly rocking back and forth, Violet sat, trying to figure out what would happen next. He was sure to be angry with her, furious, even. She wouldn't be surprised if he had decided to murder her upon their next meeting. But strangely, she couldn't feel fear at this realization; only a hollow knowledge that that was what she deserved; a bloody death for betrayal of Nate.

Oh heaven above… Nate.

She sobbed openly, wishing she could remember how to cry. But after a long time of wallowing in her self pity, Violet swung her legs over the side of the bed. If she had to meet him once more, there was no delaying it…

Taking a shuddering breath, Violet walked to the door in her bare feet, bending over to retrieve the fallen room key. For a moment, she listened at the door, but no foot falls could be heard from beyond, neither from his room or the shop. Mouth set in a grim line; Violet unlocked the door and pushed it open, the hinges squeaking slightly.

Padding down the short hallway, she once again leaned an ear to his doorway, but nothing could be heard. She exhaled, perhaps he was asleep, it must be early in the day. Relaxing for the moment, she continued down the hallway into the open parlor where she froze.

Mr. Todd was seated at the desk, his wild black hair spiraling from his head in its usual disarray. She noticed he was still wearing the same clothes from last night, but more bloodied than she'd left it. And it took her another second to realize that the body of the fisherman was gone, and the pool of blood mopped from the wooden floor.

Had he dragged the heavy man all the way down the stairs? There was a brief moment where she remained impressed, until he spoke.

"You were screaming."

She jumped, a subtle touch of fear crawling up her spine the longer she stared at the back of his head. He seemed calm, if a bit strained; she took a few steps into the room.

"…Yes." She responded, and there was a long silence until she realized he was waiting for more, "… I had a nightmare."

He rocked to his feet, setting the photo frame back onto the desk, so he could face her. She hadn't noticed he'd been staring at it, the smiling expression of Lucy and Johanna staring at her, almost mockingly; she felt a brief stab of guilt.

He was glowering at her, eyes smoldering with a deep seeded look of general annoyance and worse… anger.

He was going to kill her.

Violet held her breath and waited for him to slash at her throat; cutting away her remaining life. She deserved it. The only reason she could accept this was her sure knowledge that he would finish the task of slaughtering Richard. He was clever enough that he could do it without any help, she was sure; and using her remaining faith she prayed that his ending might be good.

Without any warning whatsoever, the shop door swung open.

Eleanor sauntered inside; looking exhausted like Violet had never seen her. She had shed the white apron she wore earlier, but her hair was still pulled back tightly from her face, making her nose look more pointed than usual. She sighed, unaware of the tension that hovered in the air, and collapsed into the barber's seat, her palm pressed to her forehead as if she had a headache.

"…Needed a break," she muttered, "Jus' finished the first, and in the oven 'e went." She sighed again.

Violet let out the breath she had been holding; thankful her friend had suspended her death penalty. Mr. Todd fell back into the chair he had been seated in before, a rueful expression taking over his agitated features. Briefly, she wondered why he bothered hiding her death from Nellie.

Perhaps he didn't want to kill her after all…

"Violet!" Nellie exclaimed, catching sight of her ruined dress, "How many times did you stab the poor bugger? You can buy yer own dress, love, that's the last of mine you've stained."

Under better circumstances, Ms. Blackwell would have laughed at her pettiness.

Her lips wouldn't unglue to answer, lead still running through her veins. Eleanor waved her hand at her, as if tired with her excuses, "What's it so tense 'n here for? You two have a row?"

Violet looked at the floor while Mr. Todd continued to stare straight ahead, both too uncomfortable to answer. Eleanor sat up straighter, "Ah… well, the mood in 'ere isn' helping." She turned to Violet, "We should get somethin' in here to brighten up the place a tick; daisies maybe… or gillyflowers, something to relieve the gloom. What do you think?"

It amazed her out cheerful and carefree Eleanor could be, even under such caustic circumstances. Numbly Violet nodded, something in the back of her mind hitching at Nellie's words; and suddenly, a thought entered her head, though she couldn't place where it had come from.

"Eleanor… do you use… all of the pieces of the human body? What do you do with the rest?"

Nellie frowned, shrugging a little at the shift in conversation, "Other than the meat? Throw it out, I guess-"

"Yes, but where?" she pressed, an idea forming quickly. It was just as disgusting as the plan on the whole, but… if she were wrong about Mr. Todd's newest intensions to keep her alive, this might just stay his hand. It was blind hope, but perhaps it would work.

Nellie bit her lip, "What are you going on about, love?"

And, with great explanation, Violet unfolded her idea to the two of them. And after a few moments discussion, they agreed. And the plan would be put into effect immediately.

Please Review! The quotes from the dream mostly are from Romeo and Juliet, I thought they would fit in nicely with her love of Shakespeare. Please please tell me what you think of this chapter; i was uneasy about it, but the romance angle had to come in somewhere, and i thought this appropriate. hopefully Mr. Todd is still in character. But we must all remember how he manipulates :]

EDIT: I changed a bit of the dream, finding some of the quotes to be overwhelming. It should flow better now, hopefully. :)

Again, Please review~

.ivory.