He. Was. Everything.

To her, anyway.

He was her reason to wake up, her reason to go through the monotony of each day, her reason to wear such revealing clothing, her reason to love, her reason to live.

Everything she did, she did for him, her demon barber.

And he was so beautiful.

When he was the frail little Benjamin Barker, married to that stupid little snit, Lucy.

When he was shaving a customer, his hand practiced and so skilled as he moved his blade and left the man's face smooth and clean.

When he danced with her, his touch strangely tender and a rare smile on his beautiful face as he held her in his arms and spun her around her small shop.

When he would look at her, sharing a smirk and a knowing glance before an unfortunate customer became filling for her next batch of "the best pies in London."

Always so beautiful.

Even when he was the murderous Sweeney Todd, so changed.

Even when he was lost in his memories, his face blank. Except for his dark eyes, holding so much pain that only she could see reflected in the dark pools.

Even when he had a hand firmly around her neck and his thumb pressed against her windpipe, cutting off her access to oxygen and toying with her very life as she screamed noiselessly in desperate pleas for her existence.

Even when he was killing… Especially when he was killing, his eyes full of fire and so much life.

… She'd seen him kill once-only once. She wasn't supposed to have seen. But she'd gone up to give him his dinner shortly after a customer had gone up. And she'd entered just as he was drawing his hand back to slice open the customer's neck.

She'd bit into her plump bottom lip, strangely transfixed, as she watched him claim the life of this unknown man, spraying blood and coating his blade in a layer of rubies. He'd wiped his precious razor clean on the man's shirt before stepping on the pedal and sending him down to her bake house, a present of sorts for her.

And then he'd looked over, offering her a smirk and her favorite knowing glance, before sweeping her into his arms and telling her what flavor her "fresh supplies" were.

God… He was beautiful.

Even when he was lying to her, telling her what she wanted to hear so that she might shut up. He'd said that he loved her; or, agreed when she'd asked, at least.

Even when he pulled her into his arms- pretending to believe her apologies, pretending to forgive her.

He'd fooled her, played on her love for him. And she'd paid the price. With her life.

But, when she really thought about it, it had been worth it. At least she'd died in his arms.

And that meant everything to her.