Hope To Dream On
The door was closed behind him at last. Sanctuary. Invisibility. Privacy. Despite its many magical embellishments, Howl pressed his back against the doorframe as though an army were besieging him.
"Leave me alone. Leave me alone," he heard himself say. He didn't even know who he was talking to. They were all after him these days: Suliman, the king, that god-awful terror of a witch. What in heaven's name had possessed him to pursue her? He would rather share intimacy with a slug demon!
He flung himself on the bed, opened a book, turned the bookmark round, and tossed it back on the floor. No, it was no good. There was no way he could concentrate tonight. He hardly dared admit the cold feeling creeping over his skin. He plucked a toy from under his pillow. He wasn't really doing this. He kicked off his shoes and curled himself tightly, hugging it to his chest, grasping his ankles with iron fingers.
Thank goodness Markl couldn't see him like this. The poor kid genuinely looked up to him. And what had he ever taught him in return except how to disguise himself, how to feint, how to run away? Howl's hands were balling into fists, so close he could feel the nails cutting into the flesh. Perhaps he would cut it for real. He had a dagger. Who would miss him anyway? What had a heartless waster like him ever contributed to the world?
He had no idea where the thought came from, but he was suddenly struck by a memory of the girl he had met in town that evening. A frightened little thing like that shouldn't have been walking the streets alone. He could still feel her trembling shoulder under his hand; still see her wide, wide eyes. And yet there had been something strong about her too. Honesty. Integrity. He liked that. It gave him a warm feeling, one that could easily have ignited to scorching, had he allowed it. But, no, he could never permit such a feeling about a pure creature like that. In the past maybe. He would be the first to confess now that he had often been one to kiss and run. The most beautiful women usually turned out to be hollow inside. So maybe he did devour their hearts: that was what they said about him, wasn't it? He didn't mean to. He just wanted to be loved.
No, he would not think that thought; it would totally unman him. He would think of her. He didn't even know her name. His head relaxed back onto the pillow. He was still cradling the toy, but more in affection than in desperation. He could feel slender fingers entwined with his as he walked in the clouds. The toy slipped from his hand. He slept.
End.
