A.N. Love's a state of mind. -Gillies
Shivering. The misty hisses of the rain permeates through the scattering of material that covers her sad body. Shaking, her translucent hand lifts from her side and grabs the door knob. She can see their yellow and orange and blue shapes huddling near the fireplace, framed by the dark grey hall, preceded by a vast lake of tar; monstrous large-bodied abnormalities sleep in tar with jagged edges illuminated by the nighttime lights she possesses. The walls, when she stares long enough, ripple with activity, underneath the skin, varying degrees of black peddling toward the ceiling in hills.
The knob turns slowly. Her breath wheezes with tears of anger, or something which feels the same sharp burning. Before she enters, she counts to five; she skips four.
The rain claws its way into the shop behind her as she left the door ajar. She can barely see her feet. She is unable to tell if she is even tethered to the earth, for she hears no footsteps. Just as she argues that she is deaf since the incident... there is a crackling coming out to greet her, from behind the corner. She shivers for want of memory.
They remain. They do not realize she is just beyond the parlour doorway. She stops. She can see their worn features now, clear as if she's holding a picture in front of her. She's close enough to reach her hand out of the wall of darkness and rest her palm on his cheek. And he's still a handsome man. But his gaze, casted onto something around the edge where she cannot see herself, his gaze is full of wicked contempt.
The warmth of the fire fills the room, but slips off like water her cold skin.
He turns his head so that he is no longer looking at something she cannot see, and frowns at his companion. She's watching him. She blinks watery long eyelashes. They're sitting closer than she originally thought.
His hand touches her cheek, their lips touch for moments.
Her heart rolls out of her hands and it smashes in the pool at her feet. They look through her, through the darkness of the hall.
Suddenly, they notice the light on her two eyes, and she gasps in terror but he stands immediately.
"Why are you doing this to me Benjamin?" She whimpers the words.
Sweeney has spread his weight across both feet, ready to spring at their intruder. But she takes a step, just one, until her face surfaces, the tar falling down the hills of her cheeks and chin. There's yellow hair. The tension is released inside him, Sweeney's fist buckle to his sides like weights.
The dryness in his voice mingles with the crackling of the fire. "Lucy."
Mrs. Lovett finds balance on her feet moments too late; Sweeney has rushed for his dead wife and they've disappeared. "Wait!" She wants to follow them but its futile. Alone, she paws at black smooth stone. The baker cannot pass through...
Mrs. Lovett sits up in her bed, surrounded by morning light. The dream lingers like salt in her eyes.