The night was cold. The room was dark. The door creaked open.

He didn't turn his head. There was no reason to see Ms. Lovett slink in. She would dance the same dance, telling him to go to sleep and stop brooding and a million other words that didn't mean a thing simply because they slipped from her mouth.

"…Sweeney?"

That wasn't Ms. Lovett. She never said his name like that—doubtfully, quietly, sadly. He turned.

Her hair was just as yellow as it had been years ago.

"Lucy," he murmured, and rose to meet her.

"No," she said quickly, holding up a hand. She moved away. "No, I was just, I was just wondering if you knew where my husband is."

Something was rising in his chest, something light and almost…almost happy. "I'm here."

"No," she replied, smoothing down her dress. "I mean—I want to know where Benjamin is. Where my husband is."

Whatever it was, it was changing. Twisting. Mutating back into a terrible agony. "I'm your husband," he whispered.

"You?" she asked.

And in his head, he could hear the rest…You? You slit throats. You? You're an inhumane monster. You? You only hate. You? You with black-white hair, and cold eyes?

"I've been changed, a little. But I—"

"No," Lucy said quickly, backing away, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you . I'll find Benjamin on my own.."

He raced forward—couldn't bear to see her go, couldn't bear to lose her, no—and grasped her shoulders. But staring back at him were two huge, terrified eyes. She shook in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he said plaintively. He dropped his arms. She nodded, then slipped away into the night. When he woke up, his heart was pounding.

"What did your Lucy look like?"

Those big wide eyes, horrified of what he had became.

"You heard me…"

That pale skin becoming even paler.

"Can't really remember, can you?"

The only thing really to say.

"She had yellow hair."