The story of Sweeny Todd was only told to be served as prophesy.

Andy had become him, the demon barber of Fleet Street. Cold and apathetic, violent and calculating.

You were the baker downstairs, Mrs. Lovett. Cocky, playful, sadistic and manipulative.

Him murdering people who had done wrong, while you baked them into pies to dispose of them.

It was just as the story had been told.

You two had grown close, always at each other's sides and tolerating the others polar opposite personality.

Andy stood at the window, blood staining his hands and shirt. "It happens every day and it's still fascinating. How after all this time.. That anyone would want this life, devoid of anything resembling light. Aren't you lucky you're a bleeder?" He hummed, his voice that usual low tone as he stared out the window. It was like he always knew of your presence, even when you were quiet.