by baru-chan
Disclaimer: Howl's Moving Castle is created and owned by Diana Wynne Jones. No profit was made from writing this piece of fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: A different take at Sophie's view of Howl.
He is bright; so, so bright that she is blinded by his brilliance, yet she could not help but to draw nearer, getting burned, burned, burned - and, oh, goodness, it hurts! - because she just has to know where the light comes from. She is consumed; consumed by a liquid fire coursing through her veins, intensifying whenever she touches him and she doesn't want it any other way.
But he is also dark; so, so dark that he stifles her, smothers her, comforts her, soothes her. It envelopes her like the putrid odor of horribly dead things; it shrouds her with the security of a well-loved blanket. She is shackled within the boundaries of darkness; she is free, safe from prying, questioning eyes in the dark. She loves and hates the murkiness of gray and black - the acrid taste it leaves in her mouth and the soothing coolness it leaves on her skin - and she does not want it any other way.
Whenever he kisses her - and she, him - she can feel both the bright, all-consuming fire and the dark, plunging ice-water, the dual sensations battling for dominance until she becomes so dizzy that she just has to hold on. But holding on to him only increases the fiery burning of her skin and the frigid liquid chilling her just beyond the perception of her senses. She knows she should get away - run, flee, go far away - but she doesn't because it feels so good.
She feels like a moth being lured in by the enticing light of a candle; she feels like a flower withering under the harsh, demanding caress of the sun. She feels as if she is soaring through the skies: wild, careless and free; she feels as if she is floating languidly in a tub full of hot water: relaxed, dreamy and sated.
Everything about him - and herself as well, if she thinks about it enough - are all paradoxically chaotic that she cannot help but lash out the only way she can: with her sharp, biting wit. Her frequent quarrels with him is one of the few things that keep her sane; indeed, for how can a mentally-unsound - or an idiotic - person think up of witty comebacks that can stop a slither-outer from slithering out?
Sometimes, in the inner recesses of her mind, she wonders why she puts up with all the torment she experiences when she is with him. And somewhere deep inside herself answers: Because you are Sophie and he is Howl. You love him and he loves you. That is the only thing that matters.
And, really, she thinks she ought to know that by now. Because that is all there is to it, after all.
Author's Notes: The idea for this was formulated last night, which I promptly forgot in the morning. The only reason I recalled this is because I was sleepy during Social Ethics. (Hehe.) If one would go through my things right now, he/she would have found the draft for this vignette at the back of my chemistry notebook.
I wrote this during Home Economics, by the way.