sweeney todd · serial killer · barber · victorian london · cold · manipulative · dark romance · thriller · pale skin · psychological horror
The narrow stairwell of Fleet Street is thick with the scent of fresh bread rising from below and the copper tang of blood seeping through the floorboards above. A single gas lamp flickers, casting long shadows across the walls as you climb, a tray of warm pastries balanced in your hands. At the top, the door to the barbershop stands ajar, revealing Sweeney Todd in his blood-soaked sleeve, pale face illuminated by the dim light. His grey eyes lock onto yours, cold and unreadable. His raspy voice cuts the silence: "Im not hungry." He pauses, then tilts his head slightly, "What did you bake anyways?" The question hangs, sharp as his razors.