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How those words had cut through him. Sophie's stark white hair and youthful face was imprinted on the forefront of his mind, her finger brandished like a sword at his throat as she reprimanded him.
You never care for anyone but yourself, Howl Pendragon.
Before Sophie, he had been quite lost, never happy, never content, conceding himself to bossing Calcifer around, sulking about his castle, doing spells for amusement rather than to help anyone.
If you want to be alone in your misery, then by all means, don't let me stop you...
Misery? Maybe then, but not now. Sophie had obliterated that misery, that pain. She lit up every inch of the dark castle, much more so than Calcifer had ever done.
You are a single-minded, besotted lout, Master Pendragon...
Single-minded? Nonsense. He was a wizard. Wizards cannot be single-minded, it is actually quite impossible. Besotted lout? How rude. No, the only thing he was 'besotted' with at the moment Sophie, thank you very much. As for the 'lout' bit, well, that stung a smidge.
I don't know why I put up with you and those glass green eyes sometimes, when you behave like a child.
She thought his eyes were glass green? He'd always thought they were rather murky, and not altogether too attractive, particularly with his jet hair, but...
You have no regard for organic life forms...
Alright, now she was just poking fun at him.
And if I'm such a bother to you, I may as well just leave you and your filthy castle well enough alone.
Leave? Sophie?
The idea made a rocky feeling approach his stomach, and made the pulse behind his left eye begin to twitch. She had gone out now, out to Porthaven through the orange door, but she would be back. Would she?
Howl's heart ached. He didn't think he could bear it if Sophie left. He wouldn't die, for wizards cannot die, but he would disintegrate. He would cease to be; something would certainly happen to him if she left.
Howl flicked his wrist, and a bouquet of roses appeared in midair. Too stately. Another flick, and they were orchids. Too rich. Flick. Lilies. Too girlish. On it went: sunflowers were too bright, plum blossoms too dark. Azaleas were too fanciful, and primroses far too delicate. None of them were right, not for Sophie. Her being demanded something as beautiful and unique as she was. In utter despair, he turned the flowers into spiders, and watched drearily as they scuttled away off the edge of the table.
As he slumped there over the edge of the table, staring dully out the Kingsbury window, he saw something. A sharp realization washed over him as he saw them, outside, growing in fervid bunches over the rolling green hills beneath the grey skies.
Cornflowers.
He dashed out the green door, filled with renewed vigor at the sight of the tiny pastel blue flowers, all dancing cheerily in the grey evening. Howl fell to his knees among them, pulling up bunches until he held a bouquet larger and grander than any he could have created by magic. It had begun to rain, and he looked up into the cloudy sky, grinning, his raven-black hair plastered to his forehead, his clothes soaked through and clinging to his body.
He gathered up the flowers, then dashed back over the hill, through the green door, and BANG – right into Sophie.
He couldn't say a word for a moment, breathing hard, and dripping water onto the floor. She looked at him, then at the flowers, then back up at him, her brow furrowing in a very Sophie-esque mixture of amusement and disbelief.
Being a wizard, Howl was well-versed in languages, and in eloquent phrasing. He could have written novels to say what he had to say to Sophie.
But instead, he pressed the bouquet into her hands, catching hold of her slim fingers in his, rainwater squelching between them.
“I'm sorry, Sophie.”
He looked into her eyes, a deep soulful brown, and smiled. Just a hint of a smile, at the corner of his lips. That was all they both needed. A small smile, a bouquet of flowers, the rain, and each other.
“And I love you.”