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Calcifor has been lonely for a long, long time; burning-bright-blue. It comes with being cupped in the cusp of a sweaty child’s hand and then swallowed, sparkling a shimmery aquamarine. Tender and raw and a jade-like green, squirming in the center of a wizard’s chest. Loneliness is easy, especially when you’re a fire demon trapped in a stone fireplace, with only the company of a mercurial magician and a baby-faced apprentice who likes his fruit tarts rather too much. It becomes quiet. Silent. Crackle-crackle-crackle. And then, suddenly, like a cloud misting away before sunlight, an old woman appears. And there's a knobby old stick for a cane that pokes at him and all the herbs (sage, lavender, chives) hung up on the walls and a routine oiling of his pan and all sorts of other meddlesome, bothersome, tiresome things. And yet – it’s also warmth. And life. And company. And a kind girl’s face looking out from behind wrinkling spells, and a brighter Markl and Calcifor realizes – this is good. One might even name it nice, despite all the scolding Sophie holds in her weary frame.
Ten-years-old and a mouth half-full of honey-peach tart and a heart bursting with sizzle-fizz-snap magic. Since the day he arrived at the moving castle from the orphanage, he’s been rotating between three pairs of vest-short combos (yellow, green, blue), because Howl is a wizard of tantrums and tempers, not care–taking. So he washes his things every once in a few weeks and lives on a meal plan of sugary pastries and studies his iridescent lilac tomes fairly rigorously. Howl doesn’t come out of his room and Calcifor is always huffy, which makes sense. (‘Cause he’s a tied-up star.) So Markl stays with himself and his books and the occasional fat mouse he kicks out of the house (but not before giving it a bit of cheese or strawberry.) Nothing ever really happens. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, a grandmother hobbles through the doorway and calls herself the cleaner. (Obviously, she’s not the cleaner, ‘cause he never hired one.) It’s weird at first. For a while. But then . . . it’s warm clothes every morning and neatly-served breakfast (black pepper bacon, crisp fried eggs, half-moon kamaboko) And a home that’s lit with sunlight. He goes on grocery trips and washes the windows and dusts the front steps. Sometimes, he wants to go back to his books, especially when Sophie starts giving him an earful. But then he remembers how warm her hands are when she pinches his cheeks and how she chortles very uglily at some of the thing he says and how nice her periwinkle dress is to cry in, especially after getting nasty scrapes. And he realizes that having a grandmother is a very nice thing to have and he’s very glad to have one, even though she lectures him very much.
To be totally truthful, he can’t remember his life before Sophie. (Or more like he doesn’t really want to dwell on those particular memories. Cowardice and heartlessness and all the rest of that.) He remembers fox's weddings and endless days and rolling pastoral hills, but it’s all just a cycle that repeats in his head before it’s broken by Sophie. Who enters the picture with hair of starlight and a mussed powder blue dress and rosy pink cheeks. Who laughs easily and chides easily and doubts easily. Who incites all sorts of questions and thoughts and feelings. Like: what does it mean when someone brings you back from the edge? Solves all your own mysteries? Fiddles with your things and kisses your cheek in the morning when she pulls you out of bed and makes you lavender fairy cakes when you get cross? What does it mean when she stays? Even after it all. Stays, and twirls over the added-on wiry balcony that’s bedded with gentle blush tulips. Stays, and pulls you through the doorway and out into the rain only to jump into muddy puddles with her little heeled boots. Stays, and chases after the Old Witch of the West with a cup of coffee on pink china every morning. Stays, and nags and yells and does all sorts of unsavory things and yet still manages to be endearing all the while. What on earth could it mean? One day, he’ll stumble across the answer.