He had always loved that color.
The roses he gave to Lucy were red. Her lips, that he so loved to kiss, were red. Her flushed cheeks were glowing red, when they returned to the warmth of their home after a long walk in the winter.
Johanna's hair had been a bit reddish in her youngest years.
The blankets on their bed had been red, just like the embroidery on the curtains Lucy's mother had given them.
When life wasn't so hard yet and a barber had the possibility to make some good money, they could afford to buy a bottle of wine every once and a while, and the liquor was, of course, red.
In all those happy memories from the past was one color always present.
Red, the color of love, happiness and bliss. The color of life.
In prison were no colors. Well, maybe there were, and perhaps Benjamin Barker would've seen them, but Sweeney Todd didn't.
When he returned to London, he found out the colors had faded there too. However, one remained: red. But in a different way.
He hated that color now.
There were shades of red in Mrs. Lovett's hair and dress. Mrs. Lovett, who did her best to let him forget Lucy. Mrs. Lovett, who was so friendly, but just couldn't leave him alone or stop fussing over him. She annoyed him so much, especially by thinking he would ever care for her, even love her.
The walls from his barber shop, the place where he had known such happiness once but had become like a cage to him, were reddish brown now the time had destroyed the merry looking yellow and orange wallpaper.
But most of all, red was the color of blood. The blood of his customers, who got what they deserved if they slid down to the basement after he had cut their throats.
The color of how his revenge would look, when he finally would kill the Judge, who had taken his life by stealing his family.
Red, the color of blood, revenge and hate. The color of dead.
A distant memory of the happiness the color had represented to him once, entered his mind sometimes. But it was gone the moment he thought of what the world had done to Lucy and Joanna; when he realized more blood was needed to revenge those responsible for the fate of his wife and daughter.
A few weeks after his return to London everything was red for him; all what was left of his world and life, was one blur of that bloody color. Sometimes he almost seemed to become one with it. And maybe one day, he would.