New Year, New Me, New Life. . . .

Prolouge

"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE FOREVER! YOU LOVE ME! I KNOW YOU DO!" A hellish scream sounded from the bakehouse oven coming from the infernal deseased baker, Mrs. Lovett.

A month had passed for her and the barber since their death.
Mrs. Lovett's body was nonexistent (except for her bones and whatever remained of her dress that she wore that fateful night) due to her final waltz with Sweeney Todd which led to her untimely death.
Sweeney however got a taste of what karma truly was. Dying by the hand of a young boy with the same weapon that he the barber had used to end the lives of many before him. Including that of his wife. . .

"You must be delusional if you still believe that Lovett! I could never love a liar like you! I hope Lucifer drags you and Turpin and the Beadle down to the boiling pits from whence you came!"He yelled back, "You know what you have done! IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU, MY LUCY WOULD'VE BEEN ALIVE!"
Mrs. Lovett banged on the doors of the oven, "Need I remind you who really killed her? If it weren't for you, she would have still been breathing, YOU BLOODY BARBER!"
He held the doors closed with all his might as he tried to lock it up tight with chains and hooks nearby, "So help me Lovett, I will not rest until your soul is where it belongs. I'll make sure that no one sets you free."

The baker laughed maniacally, "Oh, you think that these chains can hold me? Just you wait Benjamin Barker! There will come a time when someone will free me! And when they do, I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN UNTIL YOU SUFFER LIKE I DID!"

The barber simply clapped slowly, "You can certainly try. I've already lost everything. I've lost my daughter that I didn't recognize, I've already gone through hell. What you have in store for me is nothing compared to what I have already been through. You will see me no more. Goodbye Eleanor Lovett. . ." The final click on the lock was louder than both of them.

Fleet Street became a haunted place from that day on. No one ever dared to go near the two shops of barber and baker. If you were to go to the meat pie shop, the sounds of screaming anguish and heartbreak could be heard from the bakehouse followed by the smell of rotting flesh and boiling heat.
If you go to the cold barber shop, the air is deadly still save for the quiet sound of the floorboards creaking and the mechanical sounds from the infamous barber chair.

Some say that you pass by the barber shop at night, a light will come from there showing a dark but clear shadow of the demon barber himself. Constantly sharpening and admiring his silver friend. . . .