Sophie felt a hand gently take her own, and turned her head, without fear, to look on her companion. Her face lit up with a sweet, full smile: it was Howl, his raven hair flowing loosely in the warm, spring air, and he was smiling at her in return, a perfect smile marked only by the purest joy.
All around them spread the fields of flowers whose beauty had long grown familiar to her, all in full bloom, their scents mingling together and drifting sweetly on the breeze, warm and intoxicating. The lakes beyond reflected the white gold sunshine, and snow white clouds floated lazily above them.
She sighed, closing her eyes to feel the sunlight warm her skin, the wind kiss her face with its promise of a perfect twilight. When she opened them, she saw that Howl was in front of her now, and had taken both of her hands in his own.
"Sophie," he said with his dazzling smile, and when she averted her eyes with a shy smile in return, she saw that she was wearing her wedding dress, the creamy silk flowing elegantly in the wind, luminous in the sunlight, her slippers stark against the green grass.
"Oh, Howl," she found herself whispering, her voice strangely distantly, "How wonderful! Everything is perfect! Everything is so perfect …"
"It should be," he replied, squeezing her white-gloved hands. "I made it this way for you. I love you, Sophie. I would do anything to make you happy."
"Anything?" she asked, looking up into his gentle blue eyes. His smile had not changed, and it was suddenly eerie, but at the same time, flawlessly convincing. She felt her cheeks become rapidly warm, and waited.
"Absolutely," he said, clutching at her hands, tightening his grip. "And I know exactly what you want."
Her lips fell open in a silent exclamation, and she took a step back, her slipper crushing a perfect bluebell that had lay underfoot. The blue eyes that had once been so tender were now dark cobalt, entrancing, frightening. He was holding her by both wrists, and she whimpered helplessly, unable to escape.
"You're not my husband!" she cried in a strangled gasp, the wind fluttering her dress suddenly cold, his white skin ghostly and his black hair flowing around his face as if by a supernatural force.
"You're right," he said, darting his face close to her. She stumbled in her fright, but was paralyzed by his eyes; and looking at his face, she saw that he was still as beautiful as her husband, his features as stunning. The only difference seemed to be the darkness in his eyes, the unnerving smirk on his face. "I am Howl's evil twin brother!"
She gasped, the color draining from her face.
"That's impossible!" she protested, still struggling wildly to free her wrists – but the more she fought, the harder his grip became, until she thought she would buckle from the pain.
"Not at all," he whispered, the frightening smirk widening slightly at the corners. "And I, unlike my alternate self, understand perfectly what you need from me. It isn't flowers, is it, Sophie? It isn't kisses, is it, my love?"
She swallowed hard, afraid to answer, but after only a few long moments of being pierced by his navy eyes, she found herself relenting.
"I love Howl as he is," she stammered, trying her best to be fierce in her convictions, though she could see, by the icy calm of his face, that he could not be convinced. "I could never be unhappy with him! He's my one true love!"
"Oh, precious," he replied, bringing her gloved hand forcefully to his lips and kissing the white silk softly. She watched him in horror, both revolted and inescapably fascinated, drawn to him even as her mind gaped in shock. "Let me teach you about love."
"No," she cried weakly, shaking her head, her silver waves tossing wildly about her face.
"Let me give you what Howl cannot," he said, dragging her closer, her slippers sliding over the tangled grasses, the beaten down flowers. "Let me show you what it is that makes love complete!"
"No!" she screamed, loudly now, closing her eyes in her desperation. "No, I won't do it! I won't give in to you! I'm loyal to Howl! I'll wait for him as long as I live!"
But he had lurched her forward, and suddenly they were running, Sophie stumbling behind him, pulled roughly along, tears streaming down her face as her silk dress rustled loudly against the flower blossoms. She lost a slipper in the struggle, and her delicate stocking grew dirty and damp, the plants crushing underfoot.
Finally, they stopped; and when Sophie opened her eyes, she saw that they were standing in front of the cute little cottage, the one she had so adored seeing it even from aware, the place where Howl had spent his childhood summers learning the ways of magic.
She trembled, her vision blurred from the tears that stung fresh in her eyes. He released her wrists, only to suddenly appear behind her, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, and then, as the door flung open, he pushed her inside.
She stumbled against the hard floor, her balance uneven, one foot still in her wedding slipper. She raised her head to look about her, her mouth dropping open – this was not the cottage as she had once seen it so briefly. As shock seized her heart, she realized that this was a room with dark violet walls, nearly black in a darkness illuminating only from the few candles that sparsely lit the room. Instead of a simple wooden desk, there was, centered against the back wall, a large bed hung with heavy velvet curtains, and dressed with thick layers of red velvet and shimmering black silk.
She moved her trembling lips, struggling to speak, but was unable to form a single word. Then, like a shadow, Howl had suddenly crept up behind her, and he slung an arm across her chest and shoulders, pulling her against him, his breath moist against her neck. What made the embrace most frightening was the familiarity of it, the memory of Howl having done it so many times before.
But now, his lips lingered against her skin with the same mysterious stillness as their encounter in the ocean, and she was frightened, knowing that he would not release her from this, and knowing that, unlike Howl, he would not stop her from going too far.
"Don't resist me," he whispered, his words hot against her neck. She shivered, her lips parted uselessly as she felt his hand slide over her stomach, warm against the tight silk of her dress, his fingertips lingering at the curve of her waist.
"Aren't you really Howl?" she asked, desperate, her body straining against his touch. "Tell me you aren't just someone who looks as he does. Tell me you're my husband, and that this is happening, really happening."
"Does it matter?" he murmured into her ear, and then, as if she had never said a word at all, he closed the meager distance between them, taking her earlobe suddenly between his lips.
She gasped, startled at the wetness of the tip of his tongue, the roughness of the barest bite of his teeth, and struggled to feel herself from his grip. She thrashed wildly, kicking off her remaining slipper into the darkness; but Howl held her fast, pinning her wrists to her chest, not for a moment letting her go.
"Surrender, Sophie," he was whispering, his voice a low, sensual murmur against her skin as he nuzzled his nose against her throat, skimming his lips against her warm skin. "Admit that this was what you wanted from the start."
She whimpered, her mind echoing no – no, no, no – even as he pressed his lips into her neck, covering her bare throat in kisses both moist and tender, soft kisses mingled with ones that sucked delicately against her flesh – and she whispered no even as she tilted her head back, baring her skin helplessly, unwilling to struggle any longer.
In a moment, he had taken her up in his arms, and was carrying her, as if her body were weightless, to the bed that had looked so foreboding before. He settled her down onto the pillows, and she closed her eyes wearily, reveling in the softness of it all, the unspeakable luxury of the silk against her bare shoulders, the velvet under her hands.
When she opened them, Howl was above her, his face obscured by the darkness of the room and half-hidden by the silken curtain of raven hair that hung across his face. She could make out, however, despite these things, a look on his lips and in his eyes of the deepest concentration, as if he were about to cast a spell on her so powerful she would never escape from it.
He reached out, his fingertips gently tracing her jaw; and she obeyed without hesitation, leaning her head back into the pillows, lifting herself up to meet his touch.
"You're beautiful, Sophie," he said in a low voice, and she suddenly found herself believing it. She found the waves of silver framing her face as elegant as the bedcovers, her chest heaving against her corset lovely, entrancing – she was suddenly a present to be unwrapped slowly, a gift to her own unique god.
She smiled coyly, letting her eyes slip closed again as he bent down to press his lips into her own, taking up where he had left off, only now she felt his hand pushing firmly up against her corset, higher than her waist, and then higher, higher, until she gasped in surprise, shifting her body to bring herself closer to him, arching her back so that her head fell back onto the pillows.
It went on like this, Sophie writhing gently underneath him, whimpering softly from time to time, until his other hand found its way under her dress, settling on her knee, and then sliding up her thigh, so slowly that she moaned aloud for the first time, now completely undone, every thought of propriety vanished.
She moaned louder still, head tossing against the pillows …
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Sophie moaned, her head tossing against the white pillows beneath it. She had twisted the sheets of the bed around her legs, pulling them and the blanket dutifully toward her, and then kicking them off as she tossed and turned. Eventually, the cold air, coupled with her loud murmurings, drew her husband out of his slumber.
"Mmm … mmm .. mmaaa-aaah! Ahh … ahh!" she mumbled, clutching blindly at the sheet underneath her hands.
Howl sleepily opened one eye, then two, taking in the scene before him: his wife, moaning incoherently, her nightgown pushed to mid-thigh, her legs kicking against the sheets, tossing her head back and forth – all to a strange rhythm he found familiar but couldn't quite recognize.
He propped himself up on his elbow, blinking to watch her with wide, concerned eyes.
"Sophie," he whispered, reaching out and tentatively pushing against her shoulder. She moaned loudly, stilling for a second, only to roll onto her side and begin again.
"Sophie," he said, more loudly this time: and moving toward her, he began shaking her as gently as he could, relieved when her eyes began fluttering open, her tossing slowing to an unsteady stretch.
She sighed, opening her eyes to him. He frowned, shocked at how dark they seemed, clouded and luminous in the moonlight that poured into their bedroom; and he leaned toward her, gently touching her cheek.
"You've had a nightmare," he explained, as gently as he could, waiting for her response.
"Howl?" she whispered, her voice tinged with a desperation, a longing he couldn't comprehend. He looked at her in surprise, nodding, taking her hand in his own and squeezing it gently.
"Yes," he said urgently, trying to calm her. "Would you like some hot milk?"
"Hot … milk?" she murmured, and then blanched, her eyes widening. She blinked as if suddenly awakening, then looked him in the eyes, her face the picture of horror, every line of her face rigid in her dismay.
"No," she said hurriedly, pursing her lines into a wild frown. "No … I'm fine, go back to sleep."
"Calm down, love," he said to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder; but she flinched at his touch, pulling away only to nestle herself down protectively into the pillows, tugging at the blanket to cover them, suggesting in her eagerness that he do the same.
"I'm fine," she said again, and unable to keep her eyes steady on him, she let them drift toward the window, where moonlight poured in over them like the glow of her wedding dress in the sunlight.
"Go back to sleep," she whispered.
He drew her close, and she submitted, resting her head dully against his shoulder. She stared out across the sea of blankets that was the bed they shared, her mind as blank as their color, the thoughts which passed through it as obscure as the objects scattering the ceiling. They slipped away like drops of water into the ocean, and soon she felt nothing but a horrible aching inside her heart. It gnawed at her, heavy in her chest, and she knew she could never escape it until she faced the truth, and did her best to correct it.
When Howl's breath was steady and even, and she was certain he had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep, she gently disentangled herself from his arms, slipping out of bed quiet as a mouse and padding her way softly downstairs into the kitchen.
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Sophie crept stealthily into the kitchen, leaning carefully over the grate. She watched Calcifer for a moment, his body glowing faintly in his sleep, the ambers concealing him shining brilliant orange, and then spoke, her voice a whisper so soft it would not have blown away a single one of his ashes.
"Calcifer," she called slowly, like a mother cooing to her child. He continued to sleep peacefully, and when he did not stir, she leaned forward more closely, and said, more urgently, "Calcifer! Wake up!"
He flickered awake slowly, the tiny flames ascending all at once from the embers, sketching tall and thin about the half-burnt logs as he yawned. He opened one glowing eye sleepily, his mouth curving sharply downward into a frown.
"Sophie?" he crackled faintly, yawning once again. "Sophie – it's still dark outside!"
"I know, Calcifer," she said, kneeling down in front of the grate. Her eyes were wide before him, and reflected in their clouded depths was every hint of desperation she struggled to keep from her voice as she fought to remain calm, composed. She wasn't sure why she thought she could handle such a strange situation by such simple means, but it was all she could think to do, and thus, her only option. "But I need your help."
"My help?" he asked, blinking both eyes in surprise. "Why? Is something wrong?"
"No, not at all," she whispered back, that same anxiety clawing at her words. "But I need you to help me cast a spell. A spell to make me – make me beautiful. But not just beautiful, beautiful in a way that Howl … can't resist."
Calcifer stared at her levelly from between his logs, his frown incredulous now.
"You're already beautiful, Sophie!" he exclaimed finally, his flames soaring up to a level of full alertness. "And in any case, Howl thinks so too. He married you, he doesn't need any convincing."
"You'd be surprised," she mumbled under her breath, and when the fire demon raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, she bent her head, exhaustion flooding her features. She blinked her eyes several times, then raised her face to the fire, her hazel eyes so wide, so pleading, that even Calcifer's mouth fell open slightly.
"I know you can help me," she whispered. "You know as much as Howl! Surely you can teach me a spell as simple as this. Help me, Calcifer. Please! It would mean the world to me."
His flames lowered, flickering slowly as he considered this.
"Well," he replied hesitantly, his frown returning, "All right. But you'll have to be more specific. What do you mean, so that Howl wouldn't be able to resist you?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to think of the proper words. She swallowed hard, thinking of how to put it without revealing herself, and steadily rejecting each new phrase which came to her. Finally, she looked at Calcifer helplessly, her lips curved downward into a heavy pout.
"Do you mean that you want Howl to obey you?" the fire demon questioned finally, raising a fiery eyebrow.
Sophie blushed deeply, shaking her head wildly.
"Do you mean that you want for him to follow you everywhere?" he guessed again, blinking curiously in the flames.
She shook her head, averting her eyes in her embarrassment, pursing her lips tightly to hide her expression. For a moment she felt completely hopeless, because, after all, if she couldn't say it, how could she solve it?
"Never mind," she said, staring down nervously at her hands. "I'll just look through the books, and if I find what I'm looking for, I'll show you, and then we can do it together."
Calcifer was still staring oddly at her, struck dumb by her strange behavior. His frown deepened as he watched her stand, her nightgown twirling about her ankles, and walk quietly to the bookshelves. She ran her fingertips over the old, dusty volumes, the worn leather soft to her touch.
"Okay," the fire demon said uncertainly, too afraid of upsetting her further to question her as much as he would have liked. "But remember, some of those spells are very difficult. I can do only certain kinds of magic."
Sophie didn't respond. She had pulled out a large red volume, and had cracked it open, the old pages yellowed by age. She flicked past page after page, sweat forming on her forehead, her lips trembling. She was exhausted – but this could be her only chance for some time to research this, free of Howl's watchful eye.
After ten minutes of wildly searching it, she replaced the book, a deep frown marring her face. She pulled out another thick book, this one black, and began again.
Calcifer had never seen Sophie this way, so crazed and frantic, so obviously distraught. He feared she would break into tears at any moment, and were it not for the castle, he would have flown to her shoulder, his blue light shining comfortingly against her cheek.
"Did you find anything yet?" he asked meekly, his fire a rich burnt orange in his worry.
"I – no," she said, still grazing page after page, shaking her head jerkily from time to time, her frown mirroring her pain. And then, suddenly, her entire body froze, and she held the page, staring down at it with wide eyes.
She read over it hungrily, then looked up, dazed. Calmly, she returned to the fire, and hesitantly, she held the open book there for him to read, her face obscured in its shadow. Her eyes were shameful, but she held her lips open in an expression of such innocent wonder, such hope, that Calcifer's flames jumped up immediately, ready to help her at any cost.
"Spell for Yielding to Passion," he read quietly, then studied the details to himself. When he had finished, Sophie slowly lowered the book, staring at him with large, imploring eyes.
"Is this too difficult for you?" she asked in a soft, desperate whisper. He frowned, looking at her again with that incredulous expression, still not understanding why she wanted something like this so very badly, but too afraid to go against her.
"No," he said hesitantly. "It's easy enough. But it's manipulative."
"Manipulative? What does that mean?" Sophie asked, swallowing hard in her anxiety.
"It means that it directly controls what someone thinks, feels or does," the fire demon replied seriously, flaring up slightly. "And you have to remember, Howl is a wizard. He could bat this away like a fly."
"But if he doesn't realize …?" she questioned, gesturing vaguely with her hand.
"He would never expect something like this from me, or from you, for that matter," he answered, averting his eyes up toward the stairs as he spoke. "It might catch him off guard enough that the spell will influence him without his sensing it."
"So it might work?" she asked, taking a step toward him. Her hazel eyes glowed in the light he cast, so that her wild emotions were eerily apparent, her face so expressionless she seemed a tortured ghost.
"Maybe," Calcifer said, frowning deeply. "But I don't know, Sophie."
She frowned weakly at him, her face a mask of glass so marred by cracks, it was a miracle it had not shattered.
"Why?" she whispered sadly. "Why couldn't you at least try?"
Calcifer sunk down guiltily into his logs, his eyebrows lowering into an expression of powerless misery.
"I can," he said doubtfully. "I will. But I wish you would tell me why this is so important to you, Sophie. Have you talked to Howl about this? Have you tried to fix whatever he's done without resorting to magic?"
Sophie swallowed with difficulty, closing her eyes for one long moment. When she opened them again, Calcifer saw that which he had feared most – a single tear had slid down her pale cheek, its path gleaming in the firelight.
"It's what he isn't doing, not what he's done," she said in a broken, detached voice. "And I can't tell him, I couldn't possibly! I know it doesn't make the most sense, but what I want from him – I shouldn't have to ask! It should just … happen!"
"Howl loves you," the fire demon replied in a low, humble voice. "Like I love you. Whatever it is, he'd probably do it in a heartbeat. I don't think there's anything we wouldn't do for your happiness."
She stared at him blankly, her eyes unnaturally wide, and then sunk her shoulders, covering her face as she curled into herself to cry. She stumbled weakly into her chair, rocking herself slowly back and forth as gentle sobs rolled from her lips. Calcifer stared at her, stunned, unsure how to comfort her.
"Sophie, don't cry," he called pathetically, wishing again that he could leave the grate.
"You don't understand," she cried softly, her face still hidden by her hands. "That's what makes it so horrible, is how much I know he does love me, how perfect he's made our life, how he really would do anything! That's what makes it unbearable to want more from him! To be so selfish, when all he wants is my happiness!"
"You're not selfish!" Calcifer protested. "You've saved us both! You do as much for him as he does for you - where would we all be without you? The house would be filthy, and I'd still be trapped as his slave!"
But Sophie was crying again, her sobs broken as she took in great gasps of breath, trying to calm herself even as she became more and more hysterical.
"I can't ask him," she whimpered, shaking her head in her hands. "I can't – what could I say, if he doesn't know it already? I – I couldn't! What's wrong with me? Why doesn't he want – but you won't tell him, will you? Oh, please! Calcifer, don't tell Howl!"
"I won't tell him," the fire demon said softly, burning low, his frown disappearing into the ashes.
She pulled her hands slightly away from her face, smearing her hands against her it to dry her tears, then wringing them weakly on her nightgown. Her eyes were moist and bloodshot, her expression so crumbled, it took all Calcifer's strength not to fly to her side and let the castle drop.
"Don't worry," he was saying, trying to cheer her. "We'll try the spell. Maybe that will fix everything."
She nodded weakly, sniffling as she stared down at her hands, her mind blank and her heart heavy, her cry having drained of her of what little energy she had taken with her from bed.
"I hope so," she said, not really believing it. How could a simple girl bewitch a great wizard? She had a horrible sinking feeling in her gut that it would all go wrong, but at the same time, she was too desperate to call it off, knowing what her fate would be if she could not help him along.
And then, in the back of her mind, there drifted the most terrible question of all: what sort of marriage did they have, if on their honeymoon, she was already making secret plans to trick her husband?
Her chest seized at this, and she stood shakily, needing to move, unwilling to fall again into tears. She would try to have hope, have faith in Calcifer's abilities, and would try her best to go through this pretending that, if it succeeded, everything would become as perfect as before.
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This was a long chapter! It just wouldn't end!
Well, anyway. Please let me know what you thought of the dream sequence. I tried my best to make it authentic to Sophie, but still wicked enough to be beyond her. I want to thank everyone for your reviews – many of them make me so happy, and inspire me to continue!
Thank you! Please show your love with words, not thoughts!