Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd : The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, or anything associated.

.:. Fallen From Grace .:.

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The chair was dilapidated and aged, with a sagging grimace of a seat. The cover was a faded, horrible brown color with small tears dashed along the poorly sewed seams. When a hand ran over the surface, uneven lumps of stuffing could be roughly traced, like deadly tumors lurking beneath the skin, ready to strike, ready to kill...And when one sat in the dastardly creature, he would sink and be sucked into the fabric, pulled into the dark abysses of Hell.

Before this point in time, the monster had had little company. Only a few visitors dared to place themselves in its slippery jaws, and they fled before the trap could snap shut in victory. Trapped like a wild animal in an iron cage, the vehement rage stayed buried beneath layers upon layers of cloth and thread, bared in by thick wooden frames. Few noticed the frustrated shrieks and moans that filled the air as they neared the silent predator...

But a spirit ignored becomes all the more vengeful.

The chair's master ruled with his unimaginable strength and size, baring down on the ghoulish soul until it could not breath. The gruesome, grotesque gifts it had saved away from the unsuspecting world stayed hidden, as the one who had previously been in command bowed to another.

Yet now, here it was placed. Whisked away from the parlor or kitchen where it had once made its domain, and now brooding on a much more precarious perch. The great, booming monarch had vanished, and a dark, treacherously silent new foe faced it now.

This new patriarch was not like the jovial man of yesterday. His eyes were black and lifeless as coal, and his skin was sickly and pale, like yellowed parchment. This being radiated cruelty and cold, his very form emitting the essence of death. Like an animated corpse himself, the barber stood lifelessly, a blink every now and then showing his existence, or perhaps a brief glitter of the sun upon poisoned silver.

A willing spectator, invisible eyes witnessed the first killing, unknown ears twitching at the terrible sound of tearing skin. It watched dead eyes light up aglow at the sight of gushing red rivers and flooding scarlet oceans. The screeching of ripping flesh filled the air, and a jaw hanging open in soundless scream could not invoke pity in either heart.

The sights would soon become familiar and commonplace, but at the time, the new turn of evidence of riveting and brilliant. The scratched, mahogany arms trembled in anticipation, awaiting the day a life of its own would be claimed in its very depths. The ghoul who shared its room must've understood, because he soon began to labor to promote that beautiful dream.

Of course, reward cannot come without pain.

Tearing it apart piece by piece, the demon dismembered its trusting friend, ignoring the howls of pain and bitter bewilderment. Sympathy was tossed aside and burned as this devil worked, bizarre mechanics and tools surrounding him in a vicious audience.

As the slumbering night passed by, the beast began to share his thoughts with his prey, slowing tugging apart its limbs with narrowed eyes.

They shall come trusting...

As I trusted...

The man focused his eyes on the carcass of his wounded bystander, only slightly smiling, almost fondly, at its broken form.

And they will face betrayal...

Like I was betrayed...

When he had completed this barbaric task, the man grasped one of the many steel gears he had scattered, fitting it into the place he had prepared, admiring its sleek form as it spun.

They shall feel pain...

As I have felt pain...

As I... feel pain...

Screwing in an army of clogs and instruments that were only pain and mutation to the comatose body, the killer continued his rampage in a series of quick clicks and snaps.

It will be unexpected...

Just as I never knew...

Things began to move quickly, parts being reattached meticulously, know with metal appendages and organs; silver lungs that did not breathe, a foil heart that did not beat.

Rapidly, in a savage fervor of fury and passion, pieces were leaping into place, screws and nails wrapped around their wooden companions again, and the fabric molded back into its proper form with eager excitement.

Stretching its new sleek, lithe form, the chair could only boast with its pompous pride. The pain and anguish were forgotten in a past fog, and the future loomed before with a promise.

The man watched his new partner bask in the transformation, a chilling grin dancing upon his thin lips. Kneeling to its level, he lifted a marble hand and slammed it onto the metal pedal to the side.

An astounded gasp filled the air as the wooden frame constricted and contorted, becoming flat and tilting backwards with determined force. The murderer reveled in his new contraption, relishing the yowling that scratched through the air as it curled back into place.

And they shall fall...

Backwards, without warning...

Alone and broken...

As I myself...

Sweeney Todd rubbed a frigid hand against the fabric, which seemed smoother and more refined under his grasp.

Have fallen from grace.

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Author's Note: Ugh, this came out so much shorter than I thought it would. Oh well, quality not quantity right?

Okay, so basically writing from the point of view from a chair...Well, I liked the way it came out. I got the idea this morning and scribbled it on my arm :)

This also might have another chapter. There was more I wanted to convey from this point of view, but it did not seem to fit into one piece. The two topics are pretty different, and it would have been sort of jagged to squish them together.

One last thought. I don't remember if the chair is in the room when Pirelli is killed; however, when I go through the songs in my head it is? If I'm incorrect, eh, it doesn't really interfere with the story so ... :)

I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors I might have missed.

Please review, if you don't mind. I'd appreciate it without measure.