A/N: Thanks to Midna Hytwilian, SweeneyToddRocksMySocks and xoxLewrahxox for taking the time to review! You guys are my motivation! Especially thanks to Midna for giving me the idea to write diaries from Sweeney's P.O.V. It is, after all, called the Sweenett Diaries.
Monday 22 of June
Sweeney Todd's Diary
Lucy, my love, do not think I have forgotten you.
Today is the first in a month since I have written to you. Until now, I could not bear it.
Mrs Lovett sullied these pages with her prying eyes, and I could not rest until I had torn out every page and begun again.
Now, my love, I will not abandon you until it is all over. Until I am lying in my grave beside you, I will not leave another day unspoken. I will always be with you.
Do not think I have abandoned you.
By day I may go by the name of Sweeney, but only you know I am still Benjamin. Each day I feel part of him…and part of you, slipping away.
What can I do, to bring you back to me?
Only the few sunny days here remind me of our first meeting, when you christened me. I am not ashamed to say you are my salvation – without your face lingering in the darkness each night I would long ago have resigned myself to the pits of hell.
I write by candlelight. It is very late, but you know I never sleep. Even when I was untouched by evil, I never slept. I was too busy watching you dearest. As foolish as it sounds, I could never believe you were mine. You did not seem to belong in London.
Even in our darkest days, when we thought you might die with child, the world never darkened you. You were drowning in pain, it seemed. There was so much blood, I believed that night we had entered hell. And yet you bore it all, for me.
"Joanna is a cheery name," you said to me, after the Inferno was over, and little Joanna survived the night.
But I was selfish. I had no eyes for Joanna. I only wanted you, and your shadowed face, to be washed clean and luminous again.
I would not touch the child, until I had washed you clean of blood. Then your blonde locks, spun from the very gold fire of the sun itself, shone under the candlelight once again.
"Ben, don't be selfish. I am certain I will live. Pick up our child!"
And I obeyed.
"Jo," I sang teasingly as I held our daughter above your head. "A strong manly name. This child will be a butcher when she is grown."
"You are cruel Ben," you whispered, still so weak. "She will be a Princess, and she will sing to all the handsome young men from her tower."
"My childish, dreaming wife," I said to you, kissing your fingers. And then the small, warm body, my strong Joanna, passed from me to you, and I felt her warmth slowly leave me as she nestled in her rightful place.
In your arms.
It was then I realised, my love, that things could never be quite the same between us. It would never be simply you in my arms, and I in yours.
It would be Joanna between us, and we would shield her from the world.
What foolish nursery rhymes we conjured, you and I. Two lambs believing we could conquer the forest on our own.
You must know, my Lucy that every day lost between us is being made up, as we speak.
For every wolf who thought it his right to violate the lamb, I have spilt his blood twice fold.
I cannot expect you to understand. But I know when we made our vows, that we swore to accept each other, whatever our failings.
I have forgiven you for taking yourself from me. It was not your choice to make: for that I forgive you. And you must forgive me also. But what must be done, will be done.
I have long given up hope of finding you in heaven. But we will meet together. And what place, what place it may be, we will put remembering past us.
You and I will wait together. It will not be cold. It will not be dark.
And if there is light at all, it will be your hair, shining enough for us both. Shining enough for the sun.
And we will wait, however long it takes, for Joanna to join us.
Wait my love –
I hear footsteps at my door.
* * *
It was the infamous Mrs Lovett, bringing me supper. Doesn't that woman know how much she disturbs us?
Do not worry my love – there is no need to be jealous. I have frightened her off.
I am the last person in London who could be loved – and love in return.
No, my love, loving is for the dead only. And for the living to mourn the dead.
Are you satisfied now dearest? Do you feel sufficiently cruel, now that you have stamped my hopes for another evening?
I long to see your face again in the darkness.
How is it the world is so grey, and you so light?
* * *
*Awwww* I just want to comfort Sweeney. I don't know if I got his voice right. Let me know what you think!