Work Header


Work Text:

I remember she had yellow hair.

I remember she was pale.

I don't remember what color her eyes were.

I can't remember if they were green, blue, hazel—possibly even brown.

But I remember a certain gleam that would come into them:

Soft and yielding, eager but unprepared for hardship, for reality

It was my job to protect those eyes

There was mischief in them.

There was solace.

I don't remember what sort of lips she had,

Whether they were full or slender,

Small or wide

But I remember how delicately they'd curve

Whenever a quick glance or secret thought would warrant a smile-

Her smile.

Oh yes, I remember her smile.

Her hands—what did they look like? I can't remember.

Were they long and thin, or small and plump?

I remember they grew cold easily.

I remember the lace gloves I gave her to keep them warm,

To hide them from the world.

I remember those hands patting a stomach full of an unknown child,

Pitying the child because those hands did not know how to bake a cake.

I don't remember what her voice sounded like.

It could have been high-pitched or low for all I know,

Yet I remember how imperious she sounded when she prophesied:

"Our baby will be a boy. His name shall be Joseph Benjamin. He shall be a barber with dark eyes and thick hair that needs a cut itself, like someone else I know."

And I remember her self-deprecating laughter when she was wrong, and another yellow-haired maiden peeked into the world.

I remember a merry peal of unladylike giggles, like bells, followed by, "Well, I guess I'm not one for soothsaying, am I, Benjy?"

For the life of me, I cannot remember her face.

Was it heart-shaped, round, square….?

There was a bone in her jaw, however—

When she wanted, it could protrude with stubbornness—stubborn as she turned away from the window, away from the specters below, whose presence then were only mere shadows in my mind

Two nothings compared to my one everything.

Worst of all, I remember her tears.

They spilled down those cheeks I don't remember.

When I kissed them I tasted salt.

No, Mrs. Lovett, I do not remember what Lucy looked like.

But I remember her.