Sophie opened the castle door, peering through the darkness at the valley that spread out before her. The dark clouds had settled into a cold, drizzling rain, and she sneered unhappily at the sight of it, but, with a deep breath of resolution, she stepped outside, shutting the door behind her. She knew that if she looked back, even for a second, at the warmth and love she was leaving behind, she would never depart.
She pulled the brim of her hat down over her face, scowling. The events of the day – Howl's wide, stunned eyes, his innocent pleading, and even Calcifer's hesitant understanding – had dampened her spirits as thoroughly as the rain would dampen her clothes by the time she reached Market Chipping. This, combined with her new feelings, created a frustration so unbearable, she wanted to scream.
She marched on through the murky fields, hating her situation more with every step. She had been sure (even afraid) that her marriage with Howl would turn out to be breathlessly exciting, or at the very least, deliciously intriguing, every day interesting in a new, unfolding way – and she had expected, she realized, that her love life be something similar. Hardly this – hardly the image of herself trudging alone in the rain, her heart as bitter as that of a cranky old woman.
A virgin on my honeymoon, she thought miserably to herself. I marry an unfathomably powerful wizard notorious for stealing women's hearts, and I'm a virgin on my honeymoon. It figures you would end up like this, Sophie! Your luck was bound to run out someday.
She sighed, pushing her thoughts through her mind like cheese through a grater. She felt her cold hands curl into fists as she realized she was angry – furious! – at fate, for handing this to her. What had she done to deserve this impossible situation?
A struggling part of her heart, probably the most genuine part, was urging her to turn back. To stop running away and face him, face the situation, with honesty, no matter the consequences – to look him in the eye and say, Howl Jenkins, you wretched idiot! Make love to me, right here, right now!
But even as she thought this, she blushed, drawing her shawl anxiously around herself. True, he was a miserable fool (as would be any man knowing less than herself on these topics), and certainly, someone needed to set him straight – but she was … Sophie! How could she, a woman who nearly missed spending her life making hats, a quiet, proper woman, ever be so forceful concerning … sex?
She sighed again, pushing wet hair out of her eyes. Even if she did just that, told him to his face what she wanted from him, she knew what would happen. She could imagine it perfectly: Howl's blank stare, asking her – make love to you, Sophie? But I already love you!
That perfect moronshe thought gratingly. She would not explain the facts of life to her husband – she simply wouldn't! That would drain all the fun and romance out of it, and besides – she just couldn't, and that was that! She would simply need to figure out a way to educate him … indirectly.
And likely, the best way to do that was to figure out why he was so ignorant in the first place.
Sophie looked up from her thoughts, narrowing her eyes across the vast darkness that stretched in front of her. Market Chipping was still at least an hour away, from the looks of it. She clenched her hand into a fist, shaking it grimly at the starless sky.
Now would be the perfect time for Turniphead to show up with an umbrella, she thought, then laughed lightly to herself, imagining the Prince of a neighboring country suddenly appearing out of thin air to do something so obviously below a person of his class.
She continued to walk forward, resolute, though she had begun now to shiver under her wet clothes.
Damnation, she thought icily. I'll have your head once I find a way to solve all this, Howl!
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"I've told you a thousand times," Markl said darkly, crossing his small arms. "I bathe weekly."
"Nonsense!" Lettie said, crossing her arms in the exact same fashion, though her face bared an expression of coy smugness, while his was pure defiance. "I'll bet there's flour behind your ears, little man. Now, either you get into that bath without another word, or I'll strip you down and wash you myself. How would you like that!"
His mouth dropped open in horror, his nose crinkling in disgust.
"I won't have you humiliating me!" he shouted, running toward the guest room door.
"Oh no you don't!" Lettie called out loudly, sprinting after him in a wave of pink skirts. She gained on him quickly with her long, young legs, and was just about to snatch the back of his vest when she heard a faint knocking on her apartment door. She paused, turning toward it just in time to hear the guest room door slam and lock.
She huffed in frustration, giving the closed door a look of death before quickly smoothing back her hair and walking toward the front door, her gait slow and polite.
"I'm coming," she called sweetly, sighing under her breath.
She unlocked the door but kept it chained, opening it only about a six inches or so into the room. Her full, glossy lips parted widely as she gasped – standing there in the hall, pale and soaking wet, was her sister.
"Sophie!" she nearly shouted, hurriedly opening the door and ushering her inside. The silver-haired girl barely had time to speak as her sister rushed around her, snatching up her heavy wet shawl and drooping hat, then pushing her quickly into the nearest chair.
She sat down, opening her mouth to speak – and then promptly sneezed. The blonde girl took this as her cue to begin speaking in her place.
"Sophie, my God!" Lettie began instead, sitting down across from her in a swing of her skirts. "You're soaked! Have you gone mad, going out in this horrid weather?"
She grimly shook her head, sniffling uncomfortably.
"I was in a rush," she said lowly, her voice broken and weak. "I didn't have time to … arrange a carriage."
"A rush? Why is that?" Lettie questioned, leaning forward curiously, intent on her sister's every word. The other girl only sniffled again, pressing her finger under the bottom of her nose – and then she sneezed, her wet hair falling limp about her face.
She stared at her with wide blue eyes, confused for a moment – and then, a cloud seemed to lift around her. She stood quickly, shaking her head and gesturing uselessly.
"What a perfect idiot I'm being," she said, scampering off toward her small kitchen. "You must be freezing! I'll make you some hot tea. You like chamomile, don't you, Sophie dear? And you absolutely must change out of those wet clothes. Are you staying the night? Oh, you must – I have some spare nightgowns! Sophie , can I -"
She shook her head across the room, sighing and smiling in the same breath.
"Start with the tea, Lettie," she said in a lighthearted, albeit strained, voice, after which she settled back in the chair, looking about the room for the first time. It was modest, but still bared evidence of her sister's lavish taste – the elaborate lace curtains, for example – as well as her many admirers (two fresh bouquets of roses crowded the small dining room table).
At about this time, Sophie heard a slow, quiet creak behind her. She turned around, alarmed, and her pale lips fell open at the sight of Markl, his head peering cautiously around the door.
"Sophie?" he questioned, stepping hesitantly into the room. He still kept half an eye on Lettie, whose back was turned, her hands busied fixing tea in the kitchen. "Why are you here?"
She blinked, her mind racing to find an appropriate response. It seemed horrible to lie to him, Markl being such a mature, intelligent child, if still undeniably boyish and innocent at times – but at the same time, cruel to draw him into the situation. He was bound to be hurt – but also bound to find out the truth soon enough.
She opened and closed her mouth, struggling to speak, though she managed to force only an incoherent stuttering out. Markl frowned deeply at her, looking around the living room with wide, considering eyes.
"Where's Howl?" he asked slowly, blinking his green eyes. His next remark was tinged with the slightest sarcasm. "I thought you wanted to be inseparable on your honeymoon."
Sophie only managed to shake her head slowly, then turned it sharply as she heard Lettie's skirts brush back into her presence. She had set a large tray down on the table between them, and was pouring two cups of steaming tea, her expression mingled with confusion and concern.
"Yes," she said, tilting her pretty head, "Where is Howl?"
Sophie held in her breath, stalling by reaching quickly for a cup of tea. She breathed in its hot vapors, releasing a long, tremendous sigh before bringing it to her lips, letting the warm liquid trickle down her throat, warming her lungs. When she swallowed and raised her eyes, she saw that Lettie was staring at her intently – and she could feel Markl's eyes sharp on her back. Both were waiting for her response.
"Howl and I," she began, taking another long, nervous sip of tea. "Howl and I … have had … a little disagreement."
Her sister's mouth dropped open, her blue eyes wide with obvious shock. Markl scampered around to the front of her chair, and stared at her with a similar expression, though his soon twisted into one of sudden fury.
"A falling out?" Lettie stuttered, setting her tea on the tray with a slight clatter. "On your honeymoon?"
"What did he do?" the redheaded boy asked angrily, stepping toward her. For a moment, Sophie was almost frightened, and she sat up more rigidly in her chair, staring at him in surprise. "I'll have a word with him myself!"
"What on Earth about?" her sister asked in a breathless, confused voice. "Surely you couldn't have … you've only been married a few days! Wait, he didn't find another woman – did he? I knew he was never one for commitment!"
"You'd be surprised how stupid he can be," Markl said easily, rolling his green eyes.
"Be quiet, both of you!" Sophie yelped, her eyes frighteningly wide in her passion. She slammed her tea on the tray, where it sloshed steaming over the edges of her cup, and narrowly missed tipping over completely. She drew her hands back toward her lap, not realizing how badly they were shaking. "Why do you automatically assume it's Howl's fault!"
She closed her eyes, breathing hard, trying to regain control of her mind. Lettie and Markl stared at her with equally shocked, blank expressions, neither of them sure what to do or say to comfort her. Meekly, the young boy moved forward, resting his small hand on her damp shoulder.
"He didn't do anything wrong," she muttered incoherently, weakly shaking her head. "It was all my fault …"
"Sophie," he said in a low, dejected voice, bending down to try and look her in the face. The silver-haired girl only bent her head away from him, covering her face in her hands to hide the tears that had snuck up on her, and were now burning her tired eyes, rolling unrestrained down her cool cheeks.
Unfortunately, this movement did anything but hide her. In turning away, her hair slipping back behind her shoulder, and she unknowingly bared her neck. Lettie gasped, her glossy lips parting in horror – and quickly she stood, taking Markl by the shoulder and ushering him away before he could have a chance to see.
"Come along, dear," she was saying, finally tearing her eyes away from her sister's pale throat. "It's time for bed now. Sophie and Auntie Lettie need to have a grown up talk. There's a good boy …"
"What?" Markl yelped. He struggled under her grasp, twisting away from her, but Lettie had tight hold of his forearm, and was pulling him helplessly toward the guest bedroom where he slept. He continued to fight, kicking at the floor, not taking his eyes off of the girl who sat still as death in her chair.
"Sophie!" he cried out. "Sophie, make her stop! I want to hear what happened!"
Slowly, she pulled her head up out of her hands, turning it listlessly toward his voice. She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, frowning miserably behind an exhausted, pale face. The sight stunned Markl, who ceased his struggle, staring at her with wide, anxious eyes.
"I need to talk with Aunt Lettie alone now, Markl," she said, in a voice that was uncharacteristically hollow. She smiled a little, though anyone could see it stood for nothing. "You and I can discuss it in the morning, all right?"
He nodded, flinching as his aunt again put her hand over his shoulder. He stared at her sadly, not wanting to look away, but afraid to go against her words.
"Okay," he said, rather pitifully. "You promise?"
"Cross my heart," she answered, smiling again in that ghost-like way, there one moment and fading away quickly the next, gone in the beat of an eye. "Good night, Markl."
"Good night, Sophie," he answered softly. For a moment, she thought he might run to her, bury his head in her skirts as he so often did; but, suppressed perhaps by the sullenness of the situation, he only cast her a pleading look before obediently going off to bed.
She flinched as he shut his door, her heart beating irregularly. The encounter had left her with the inescapable feeling that had penetrated her thoughts for hours now – how very wrong everything had become.
Lettie rushed back to her chair across from her sister as soon as Markl's door was safely shut, leaning forward in genuine, unwavering concern. Her eyes were still widened in shock, and Sophie knew by the way they followed the movements of her neck that she had seen it, and that now there was no chance to lie.
"Sophie," she said, again in that voice so breathless with surprise, "Did Howl do that to you?"
Sophie pursed her lips, lowering her eyes to the hands that lay still and icy in her lap. She finally nodded, finding herself unable to look up at her sister's expression as she gasped again, this time so quickly her breath hitched in her throat.
"But … Sophie … did you … I mean … was this something that you enjoyed?"
She stood her head again, weakly, the movement barely perceptible. She was wringing her hands, trying desperately to be strong and honest in this, but finding herself unable to speak, to explain – even to feel.
"It hurt," she whispered, swallowing hard at her words. "But Howl … he didn't … didn't realize that …"
Lettie sat back rigidly in her chair, gripping at the arms with her perfect nails, the expression on her face having transcended from shock and confusion to absolute horror, and then, twisting her features and darkening her eyes, unmitigated disgust.
"That monster!" she yelped, shaking her head in disbelief. "How dare he!"
"It wasn't his …"
"I knew those heart-eating rumors had to have a grain of truth!" she said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the air, disgust still in complete control of her features. "That nasty – filthy – wanton - !"
"Really, Lettie!" Sophie cried out, with all the strength she could muster. "Listen to me. He didn't mean to do it – to hurt me, I mean."
"I'm not sure how you can accidentally sink your teeth into someone's throat," she answered nastily, still shaking her head in penetrating disapproval. "If anyone would have such depraved interests, it would be a wizard! I should have gotten to know him better, before letting the man marry you …"
"I wouldn't say he has those interests at all," she replied rather meekly, a bit dismayed by the passion of her sister's response. "In fact, that's part of the problem. That's why I went to Calcifer, our fire demon, and asked that he - "
But Lettie had held up her hand, imploring her to stop. Her words tangled and fell away, and she nearly whimpered in her frustration, wringing her hands restlessly in her lap.
"You don't need to explain the details to me now, Sophie," she said firmly, her eyes dark but resolute, having regained full control of her thoughts. "Exactly how it happened can come later. The fact is, you're frightened and cold and confused, and what you need most right now is a hot bath, a warm meal and some dry clothes."
The silver-haired girl opened her mouth to protest, but then, as the incredible logic of this speech settled over her shivering body and exhausted mind, she found herself only nodding, reaching compulsively for her tea.
Lettie smiled painfully, standing from her chair.
"I'll fetch a clean nightgown for you," she said, looking down at her sister with an expression of compassion mingled with pity, both set to the backdrop of barely concealed anger. Sophie clung to her tea, taking in a deep sip, not so much as looking up as her sister walked away.
So intent was she, in fact, on her hot drink, she didn't hear her sister's furious mutterings as she disappeared into her bedroom.
"The absolute nerve of the man," she was whispering bitterly under her breath, shaking her head as if to break free of the image of his face. "Attacking my poor sister, knowing how sweet, how gentle, she is … the filthy pervert!"
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Yes! What a perv!
I tried in this chapter to make Sophie more "in character," as many people tell me that she is out of it. When I write her, I try to remember that she's torn between being strong-minded, loyal and loving with Howl and proper, as she was raised to be. I meant for the situation to be so much in conflict with this powerful aspect of her personality that she would hardly be herself – she would be desperate, frustrated, miserable, even furious – because she's human.
I don't know if that explains it properly, but I'm glad to see that so many people enjoy this, anyway, and I hope that I continue to live up to your expectations. Thank you!