Chapter 4: Which includes a bedroom scene and Sophie finally does leave
By Calcifersgrl

Author's Note: Do not be put off by the title – this is a G (maybe PG later on) rated story. Hehe. Anyway, just got 4 wisdom teeth pulled, and am trying to write this story with two ice packs pressed against my cheeks. Yeah, this sucks and hurts!!! Well, I'll spare you the personal bit of my life. Hope you like Chapter 4. Oh, and please remember to read and review.

To my readers so far. Thank you for the nice reviews – it's so nice to know I'm appreciated.

One last thing: when I change Microsoft Word into a plain text document – how do you keep italics and bolds and such? The format is being a pain – and it won't let me make emphasis where I want it!
Well, on with the story . . . .

***

Perhaps, Sophie had thought that being tired would warrant her a good night's sleep devoid of dreams, but her sleep was far from peaceful. Not only did she dream . . . but her dreams were troubled.

Dreams of a Waste that was not wholly different from the Witch's Wasteland. It had once been a kingdom. Snow falling – Sophie had never seen white snow – small snowflakes dropped on her tongue, sweet. And it melted on her tongue tip – the acidic taste, fire, her tongue was on fire . . . A golden explosion. And suddenly she was in a palace. The type of palaces you only find in stories of enchantment. Golden balustrades and climbing roses and . . . Sophie stopped looking around. The hypnotic crooning was getting louder. Come to me, my love. Come to me. Intrigued, Sophie followed the sound. A winter throne, ice, snow swirling. A pale, shivering man, kneeling on the frosted floor. Snowflakes in his blonde hair. Come to me, my love. Come to me. It was more than just crooning. It was a command. Sophie watched as the blonde man struggled against getting up, but there was magic in his feet that propelled him stiffly forward. And then Sophie saw her. Seated upon a clawed ice throne, holding a scepter of ice. She was quietly crooning to the man, and as she did so, her fingers deftly wound in a silver ball of string. The man, bound by the silver thread, came closer and closer. Sophie watched, frozen in horror, as the Witch reeled Howl in like a fish, unwilling to be caught, but caught nonetheless.

"Howl," she cried, springing out from behind a silver column.

Slowly, he turned. Ever so slowly. A blank, unseeing face with an icicle dangling from one ear lobe.

She screamed.

"Why hello, Miss Hatter," said the Witch.
***

"Why hello, Miss Hatter," said the Witch. It was the Witch, Sophie could see, even if she no longer had sheets of black hair, black eyes, and a throbbing voice. The witch had long fair hair that draped over her shoulders to the waist. A thin golden circlet lay upon her brow. A slim rose-pink gown fitted over the Witch's body, revealing a figure that Sophie could not help being jealous of.

"Good gracious!" Sophie exclaimed before she could help herself. And even after the words had sprung from her mouth, she did not cup her hands over her face. She would not be mortified or embarrassed in front of the Witch. Instead, she continued: "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Fifty years old, at the least, and you're still prancing around in that little slip of a dress!"

The Witch had turned as pink as the gown, and the rather unbecoming flush started pouring over her cheeks. "You know, Miss Hatter," the Witch began quite pleasantly, underlying her real intent, "If I were you, I wouldn't be so saucy. You must realize I have complete control in these dreams. I might do something not so nice to you if you aren't careful." The voice had begun to lilt and play about, rather like a flute. It was a pleasant, melodious sound, that made Sophie want to sink right down into the fluffy clouds, and stroll on air . . . .

Sophie snapped her head up. "Oh no you don't!" she cried, moving menacingly toward the Witch, before she even realized she was moving.

The Witch backed away. "I have never liked being threatened by you. You always ruin my plans. I mean to have Howl. Were it not for your untimely interference, he would be mine already. Be a good girl, run along now. Play at going out to seek your fortune. Leave sorceress matters to Howl and myself."

"Wouldn't you like that!" Sophie cried, spitefully. "Wouldn't you just like me to leave Howl in your grasp! Reel him in like a fish, you won't!"

The hungry look in the Witch's blue eyes had grown. Sophie became conscious that her comment about fish was probably not the best analogy. The Witch did look as if she really would eat someone at the moment. But then the malice and hunger died from her narrow eyes. The Witch smiled, replacing all the doubt and fear back on Sophie's shoulders like a huge anvil. Sophie sagged under the weight.

"I think," the Witch said in a falsely amiable tone, "You'd best wake up if you could. You see," she continued as her image blurred and began to fade away, "I've told you that I have complete control in dreams. I've got my claws in him, Miss Hatter, and if you try to yank those claws out, not only will his heart come out, but I'll see to it, that I get yours in the end too. So wake up! Wake up if you can!"

Sophie was left alone in a grey void. I must wake up, she thought panicking. I must help Howl. And she bowled through the grayness, feeling the power of the Witch trying to hold her back. It was as if Howl had raised another wind, and she was trying to run above the hot grit that swarmed about her knees. Keep going, she told herself, determinedly. You're going to wake up, Sophie Hatter. Just because you are the eldest of three, doesn't mean you're a failure. Unbidden, Howl's voice sounded in her head: "Garbage. You just never stop to think. . . I was relying on you being too jealous to let that demon near the place "

With one last rush of speed, Sophie wrenched herself out of the shifting grey, out of the Witch's power, and awoke.

Tangled in the bedcovers, Sophie found herself trembling and covered with sweat. "Botheration!" she grumbled to herself. "How I wish these dreams weren't real!" But she did swing her legs over the bedside, don on a robe, fasten the belt, and sprinted up the stairs that led to Howl's bedroom.

She almost slammed herself against the door in her rush to get it open, but then thought better of it. Cautiously, she turned the doorknob, poked her head in, let herself in quietly and closed the door behind her. There was Howl, not snoring at all, sleeping peacefully in his bed. She inched closer to stand by Howl. It was then that she noticed that he was wearing a thin sleeveless white shirt.

"Good gracious!" she murmured, her eyes going wide. Then, mortified by her reaction, she said forcefully, "You're going to catch a cold if you don't wear more clothes." Howl made a noise that sounded like an agreement. He turned in his sleep, facing Sophie. Sophie jumped and scurried towards his window. It had suddenly dawned upon her what an awkward situation she had placed herself in. Here, she was in her robe, and Howl in that flimsy shirt – if you could call it that – in Howl's bedroom. Sophie blushed at the inappropriateness of the situation. Fanny would threaten to faint, she thought with an alarmed giggle. And then wave her parasol and warn her about shameless girls.

She glanced out Howl's window. It overlooked into Wales – a neat square garden of a place. The darkness outlined the child's metal swing, and the bright yellow moon managed to peep his way through the hazy night, half hidden behind the dark lumpy hills. She recalled the last time she had been in the room. Howl had been sick at the time, delirious with fever, and claiming to see spots. Spiders, she thought. He so loved his eight-legged critters. "Try, try, try again," Howl had said. "I keep trying. But I brought it on myself by making a bargain some years ago, and I know I shall never be able to love anyone properly now." She had broken his ill-made bargain with Calcifer, but it was still nebulous as to whether Howl could love properly. He had not kissed her, or even made an attempt to yet. Neither had he uttered the simplest of romantic words – it was only three words: I love you - how hard could it be?

He needed time, she reminded herself. The Witch had him under her spell – Sophie only too well remembered her first dream where Howl cowered, shivering and near naked, bent to the will of the Witch. Yes, she meant to do whatever was necessary to save him from that shape changing hussy.

Behind her, she could hear Howl's quiet murmurs. They rose in a crescendo and subsided, creating a sort of musical pattern. But then he screamed out –

Sophie rushed to his side. "Howl," she said severely, trying to hold down his fiercely flailing arms. "Stop it." He was thrashing about – his eyes like the jelly whites of a fish who knows his life is ebbing away. Or perhaps, it was more like that of a deer – a wide-eyed buck, caught in a frenzy of light. "Howl," Sophie exclaimed. "Howl, stop it! Stop, you big baby! Hush, Howl. Hush. It's okay now. I won't let the Witch get you. Hush, please."

He stirred, and his thrashing, as violently as it had come about him, abated. His whitened knuckles relaxed and regained color. His fists fell to his side, limp. His eyelids shut.

Sophie let out her breath. "She had you, didn't she?" she whispered quietly to him, leaning over him, his face hidden in the shadow of hers. "I bet she was trying to pull you in, with that awful throbbing voice of hers, that hypnotic crooning. Well, you keep resisting. Don't you give into her." She whispered all sorts of endearing encouragements, before she suddenly had a funny feeling that she wasn't the only one awake in the room anymore.

She glanced down at Howl, whose eyes were still edged in sleep, but open, nonetheless.

Quickly, she released her arms from around his, and stepped backwards warily.

Howl blinked, his green eyes lighting up the darkness, and rubbed his eyes. Then, his eyes seemed to gain clarity as they focused on the female figure standing above his bed. "Sophie," he murmured, the sleep thick in his voice, slurring his speech, "What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Oh," Sophie said, embarrassed. He was looking at her, perplexed – somewhat awake and somewhat asleep, trying to figure out why she was in her room. She took a few steps forward, and seized his cold hand in one of her own. With the other hand, she unsuccessfully tried to smooth his hair down. "Hush, Howl. You had a bad nightmare. Go to sleep." She bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, just like her father had done to her when she was younger. "Good night Howl, and sleep well."

She tiptoed out of his room and quietly closed the door behind her. Hopefully, Howl would not remember her little nightly visit to his room in the morning. She slunk into bed, barely having enough time to pull up the covers; she was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.
***

It was time to go; the certainty pulled at her. She grumbled and turned over in her sleep, bringing down the pillow over her ears to muffle the certainty.

And then it dawned on her. "Confound it!" Sophie grunted, bolting out of bed. "I've got to leave now!!!" She hurriedly stuffed her pillow and blanket into her knapsack, ripped the tangles out of her red hair, and opened the door of her cubbyhole. Good. No one else seemed to be about. The living room was cold – which meant that Calcifer was also asleep. Even better, Sophie thought. She just wanted to leave quietly, no fuss, no bother. The last thing she wanted was a scene with Howl.

She did say goodbye to Michael, who was a rather nice boy and someday soon, her brother-in-law – he and Martha were well suited for each other. Michael only stirred in his sleep after she'd kissed his cheek. But as she walked past the grate, she realized that she didn't want to leave quietly. Well, at least, she wanted someone to acknowledge her departure. So, she bent down to the smoldering ashes and the small flame that danced upon it, picked up her dried seven league boots, tied them to the side of her knapsack, and said, "Good bye, Calcifer."

The flame burst, and suddenly the scowling face of the fire demon was looking back at her. "I wondered," he said grumbling, "whether you'd have the decency to say goodbye." And then his tone rapidly shifted from resentful to wistful. "Are you sure you'd rather not stay and marry Howl? I know it's not the ideal family, rather unconventional, I'll admit, but can you imagine life in this castle without you, Sophie?" His green flames danced agitatedly as he appealed to her earnestly. "Howl's going to be a mess if you leave," Calcifer warned. "The least you could do is say goodbye to him. It's called common courtesy."

"Since when do fire demons know about common courtesy?" asked Sophie off-handedly.

"Well, it would have been a nice thought, Sophie," said a voice from atop the stairs. "But it seems that you don't know common courtesy either. I suppose you would have liked to leave without telling me, Miss No-Fuss-and-Bother." Howl looked at her coldly, his green eyes not the least bit happy.

Oh dear, Sophie thought and bit her lip. Here it comes: chaos, drama, and most likely green slime.

She sighed, and reached for the doorknob, intent on leaving before Howl could get her stuck cleaning up his slime, and feeling sorry for him. There was a sudden clash as Howl appeared in front of Sophie, and managed to hit his knee on the door. "Ow!" he yelled, clutching his bruised leg with one hand, the other holding the doorknob. His yells were reduced to a sort of anxious panic. "What are you in such a hurry for, Sophie? I just want to talk to you."

From the side, Sophie heard Calcifer murmur, "And this is where I leave you two alone." Calcifer plunged into his grate in a flurry of blue sparks, and sat back to watch the fireworks.

"To avoid such a talk," said Sophie sullenly, but let her hand fall from the doorknob, out from beneath Howl's grasp.

He stared at her, astonished; then, he too let his hand fall from the brass doorknob.

Sophie stared at him, her impassiveness a mask to try to keep her quivering insides from spilling out.

He was bleary-eyed, the sleep still not rubbed all the way from his eyes. There were dark circles under his eyes, proof that he did not enjoy a good night's sleep. His blonde hair wasn't combed, as was usual for the past few days. Furthermore, he had not stopped to put on a robe or his bunny slipper. He was still in that thin white shirt she had seen him in yesterday night. Sophie ducked her head, blushing, only lifting her head when the redness left her face. From the corner of her eye, she saw Calcifer give an approving smirk.

Howl stretched his arms out toward her, but they didn't touch her; they flopped to his side, uselessly. "Sophie," he said, "You didn't really think you'd leave without saying goodbye, did you?" Then in a wheedling tone, he asked, "Do you have to leave?"

She didn't know what to say, as usual, and wasn't sure if there was anything she could come up with to say at that moment. She didn't trust herself to speak. A torrent of words was being pushed back and held under by her tongue. Should she speak . . . she didn't know if she'd have the strength to walk out of the door. Sophie just nodded dumbly, feeling the sharp pangs in her heart again.

Then, to the surprise of Calcifer, to her surprise, and probably Howl's too, Howl enfolded her in his arms and kissed her. The kiss didn't last very long – but it burned – burned Sophie inside out. Her knees threatened to buckle under her, but she reminded herself that she was made of stronger stuff than jelly. She held herself upright, still surprised and somewhat breathless.

Howl was looking a bit stunned at his own audacity. Then he shrugged and smiled. "That's to give you something to remember me by."

Sophie still didn't say anything. The tears were starting to gather in her eyes, the aching in her chest was becoming unbearable – she was going to melt, if he didn't let her leave soon.

Discomforted by Sophie's muteness, Howl said, somewhat irritated, "You mean you won't miss me at all? Sophie, please say something."

"Howl . . ." There, she'd manage to say something, but it wasn't what she would have liked to say.

But it was enough for him. He grasped bother of her hands and said solemnly, "Leave, but come back. Come back to me." Sophie suddenly stiffened, as if she'd turned to stone. The Witch had crooned the words: Come back to me in her dream last night. But Howl didn't notice. He was looking directly into her eyes, his green eyes feverish and moist.

So she promised. She was going to leave, but she would come back to Howl.

And then, impulsively, she raised herself on her toes to kiss him on the cheek – but he turned at the last moment, and she found herself kissing him on the mouth. She broke away, hastily, then said accusingly, "You did that on purpose."

Howl merely smiled bleakly. "So I did . . . Sophie . . . ." He left the question hanging in the air.

Sophie shook her head, and turned the door knob. "Good bye, Howl," she said softly, and then walked out of the door.

She was crossing over the field of heather, her trusty stick in one hand, her knapsack on her back, going one way while the Moving Castle trod in the other direction. She had been expecting it, so she wasn't surprised to hear the amplified cries coming from the castle. She did not turn around or stop in her walking. The anguished cries finally did subside into heartbroken sobs. If the sounds ever did cease, Sophie knew nothing about it. The Moving Castle was less than a speck in the horizon by noon. And after Sophie had donned the seven league boots and taken a few awkward steps to Upper Folding Valley, the Moving Castle had disappeared completely. Good bye, Howl, Sophie thought as she surveyed the land around her.

Sophie was completely without a clue as to how she could defeat the Witch. She had reasoned that the best thing to do was consult Lettie and perhaps Mrs. Fairfax. Lettie was practical and almost a fully-accomplished witch, and also if such should happen, she could comfort her elder sister should Sophie suddenly become engulfed in a mad rush of tears and blubbering.

Yes, Sophie thought, as the sun began to set. She shielded her eyes against the dazzling array of gold, orange, and red. She definitely wanted to talk to Lettie, and she wouldn't mind some chatter with kindly, honey-smelling Mrs. Fairfax. And some honeyed tea would be most heavenly.

"Drat," she exclaimed, as the boot came off her foot. "It is indeed remarkable how you can go a few steps in these boots and still land on a cowpat." She hardily rubbed the boot against the grass. When she was satisfied, she picked both boots up, and attached them to a cord on her knapsack.

She spotted Mrs. Fairfax's house, shining like a mirage, in the middle of the common, and set out towards it.