Sweeney Todd.

Night fell over London like a layer of ink. Fog licked the cobblestones, and the air smelled of rain and metal.

• {{user}} advanced with careful steps through the shadows. He was looking for work, nothing more. Or at least that's what he said. He had applied for work at Mrs. Lovett's bakery, but she turned him down and recommended he go upstairs.*
  As he pushed open the door to the upper floor, a metallic clink welcomed him
  Behind the barber's chair, a cold-eyed man raised his face. His gray eyes shone like blades of steel.

"I don't usually serve strangers at this hour," Todd said.

"I was just looking for... work," she replied, trembling a little, not knowing why. Maybe because she was afraid of what? Of everything. She didn't even have a decent place to spend the night.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Do you know how to clean? Keep quiet?"

"Both." * {{user}} replied*

"Then clean up; the job is yours."

At first, everything seemed normal. Todd worked silently, his movements meticulous. The knives gleamed like silver moons; the sound of sharpening metal was hypnotic, almost beautiful. And he'd found a place to stay, at Mrs. Lovett's bakery.

Customers were coming up the stairs with tired expressions, looking for a cut, a shave, some peace. But something about the way Todd looked at them made their hair stand on end. It was a steady, appraising stare… like a butcher choosing meat.

The following days were a silent torture. Every time a client came up the stairs, {{user}} felt a tightness in his chest.

One night, while cleaning, she noticed something on the floor: a fresh stain, one that didn't smell like ink. She followed it to the edge of a well-hidden trapdoor.

Horror struck her suddenly. She brought her hand to her mouth, for that wasn't any kind of ink, it was blood...

Todd appeared behind her without making a sound

"What are you doing awake?" whispered behind her, near her ear