A/N:

Hello, beautiful people of this site! This is my first post on this website, and also my first Sweeney Todd FF. I've been writing this all down in a notebook for the past few months or so, and I finally decided to get an account for it. Please review!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sweeney Todd in any way, the rights go to those individuals respectively.

.ivory.

DEFINITION:

(a): Revenge [ri-venj]: to exact punishment or expiation for a wrong on behalf of, especially in a resentful or vindictive spirit.

And sweet revenge grows harsh.

~William Shakespeare, Othello

Chapter I: Pious Vulture of the Law

The rose was still young, the petals only just beginning to unfurl and reveal its scarlet core. Her mother would have been unhappy with her, always hated it when she plucked the flowers before they were ready. She didn't mind though, the scent always seemed sweeter when the plant was still so callow. The stem itself was a light green, pronged here and there with sharp and unforgiving thorns. Yet roses were her favorite, mostly for the ironic mix of beauty and menace.

Somewhere behind her there was a low thud; it sounded like the front door.

"Nate?" she called, her blue eyes fixed to the flower as she clipped another thorn. It was the final rose in the bunch, the others already arranged in a glass vase to her left. Footsteps echoed closer. She moved to snip another briar, eyes trained on the blade in her hand, "You are home early today, darling-"

A sharp pain bit into her thumb as the barb cut her skin, "ouch!"

Beads of life began to form around the tear, stinging annoyingly. Why is it she always seemed to hurt herself? Even with something as simple as a flower. A cold hand reached around to her wrist, wiping the blood away gently.

"You should really be more careful, Isabel."

The words were uttered low in her ear, almost intimately; it was certainly not her husband. Startled, she twisted uncomfortably close to the stranger, his presence looming over her like some sort of dark shadow. But it wasn't a stranger. Dark gray eyes stared down at her, large and hollow, as if they could see every wrong she'd ever committed. They made her sick.

"Oh, Richard," her voice caught, "I didn't know you were in, forgive me."Isabel backed up against the table, wanting only to make the gap between them larger. He didn't seem to notice. Nate's brother was tall, like him, broad shouldered with that irritating way of rubbing his nose when he was uncomfortable. But that was where all similarities between the two siblings stopped.

Richard was hard and cold, his dark brown hair combed neatly; dress clothes pressed and fitted tightly to his stalky frame. Nothing was out of place. With a nose that was long and hooked, he certainly wasn't handsome like his brother. He gave a small, twisting smile. Isabel was reminded of a snake. His person was so close she could feel his freezing breath billow around her face, accompanied by the unpleasant mix of mint leaves and something sour. Politely moving out of his reach, Isabel unfastened the cupboard above to withdraw a hand towel.

"You startled me." She said, wiping her hands slowly.

"No, no lovely lady; forgive me. I walked in unannounced." He said in his usual lazy drawl, it sent shivers up her spine; something about it made her uneasy. She tossed the towel aside, looking for something else to occupy her hands. Settling for rearranging the roses in their vase, Isabel ignored the sensation of his eyes on her back.

"…Improper for a gentleman." Richard continued his last thought, waiting for her to respond. It sounded like he hadn't moved, and she relaxed a little.

"A judge now, I hear. Congratulations are in order, Richard. Or should I say, Judge Turpin?" she couldn't keep the twinge of revulsion out of her voice.

He walked around to her side, so he could see her face, chuckling lowly. It was a sound that she had grown to hate; unlike Nate's warm, breathy laugh, Richard's snicker was simply to contradict. A sign of dominance.

"Quite right, Isabel," he was smiling, not bothering to hide the pride in his words, "but I have not changed all that much."

'I can guarantee that you have,' she thought to herself as she filled the vase with a few inches of clear water. Her clumsy hands shook with anxiety, causing a few drops of liquid to dribble down the side. Sighing, Isabel turned to pick up the towel, and noticed that the man was already holding it out to her expectantly. She took it gingerly, "Thank you, Richard."

Their skin brushed lightly as he handed it over, a faint look of disgust crossing her face. He must have seen it, because he took a sudden step forward and gripped her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him. Panic quickly overcame the loathing, sending her heart into a frenzy, and adrenaline dumping into her veins. He smiled at her fear and allowed his hand to trace down her jawline, his fingers snake-like as they traced her pale skin. "You're quite welcome, Mrs. Turpin."

"Let me go!"

Violet jerked awake, her heart thumping behind her lips, and her arms outstretched.

It took a moment before she realized she was back to reality, the air stirring around her lazily, wrapping her in comfort. Blessed solitude. Blessed silence. She breathed out slowly...

Nightmares, always the cursed nightmares that tortured her sleep, leaving her curled in a tight ball and drenched in sweat. They caused a tight fear that strangled her in her sleep, pressing down on her with surprising force that mixed memories with illusion. It was almost as if Richard had really been there, she could still feel the cold from his skin and the lust on his breath...

Violet pressed her head between her sweaty palms and squeezed her eyes shut. No tears came, she always thought it was pointless to cry, and promised herself she wouldn't do it ever again.

The door to her cabin burst open, "Ms. Blackwell! Are you alright?"

She didn't respond to the youthful voice at first, the alias still not making sense in her foggy mind. But after a moment, she dropped her hands from her temples and looked up. One of the young sailor boys stood in the doorway, his thick dark hair messy over his blue eyes and olive colored skin. He'd clearly only just tumbled out of bed, probably at the lady's startled cry. What was his name again? Cole?

"I-I'm fine," she stuttered, a bit flustered that she'd been discovered in such a weak state. "Please leave me be." He (Charlie?) was still bursting into a lady's bedchamber, even if it was aboard a ship. The thought seemed to cross his mind.

"Oh, sorry, Ms. Blackwell." His face turned a dark red as he looked towards the floor. He was a handsome boy; probably eighteen or so.

"Um… Well, we're coming into port soon, M'um. In the hour."

"London?" Violet asked, straightening up a bit at the word. It had been on everyone's tongue for the past two weeks. Whether it be in excitement or resentment; longing or boredom. None of the passengers had stopped talking about it. London London London.

"Yes, M'um." He broke into a wide grin, forgetting his embarrassment. She nodded, clearly dismissing the young sailor. He understood and shut the door behind him, leaving her in peace.

Violet swallowed as she threw back the thin blanket, the cold air immediately descending on her shivering body. She wondered briefly if the chilling sea air had been a contributing factor in her nightmare, disguising itself as Richard's bated breath.

She dressed in a traveling frock, allowing her long dark hair to spill down her shoulders in a curly disarray. She hadn't really tried to look nice in so long, after all, there was no one she wanted to impress. Violet left her small cabin and walked out to the deck, swaying slightly as boat tipped against the waves. She groaned, thankful this torture would end soon.

After the first week or so, she had decided she hated sailing. The air was always muggy and heavy, as if the ocean rose up from below to drift among the air. She was sick often, which only added to her bad mood. Oh yes, she couldn't wait to be back on solid ground.

Other passengers were already up and about, chatting to each other excitedly or staring out at the water's horizon. Sailors parted through the crowd discreetly, preparing to dock. Violet breathed in the clammy air and made her way to the side of the ship to squint at the landmass floating atop the water.

It was still quite far off, but it was definitely getting closer by the moment. The long stretch of black land was barely visible through the foggy air. London, her beautiful terrible city, was only a short boat ride ahead of her...

Back to this sinful city; she couldn't remember how many years it had been since she left. Part of Violet knew that she shouldn't have come back, should have followed her mother's advice and stayed in America. But obedience had never been her forte. Knowing that Richard was somewhere here, free and breathing… put murderous thoughts in her mind. That disgusting sadistic man, who's only thought was to please himself and his wants. Indulgence. That was his simple excuse for murdering his own brother, her husband.

She'd come back with only one goal in mind; the only thing that could bring justice to Nate's death:

Judge Richard Turpin's demise...