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Chapter Text

In the Land of Ingary, where humans and faeries lived in somewhat of a harmony, Sophie Hatter had what she would describe (to no one except herself), a rather boring life. 

She never felt like she fit in amongst her peers and the people around her. While her stepmother and customers in the shop - sometimes even her sisters too - were happy to live in Market Chipping or any of the surrounding towns their whole lives, craving the bustling atmosphere and busy comfort of home. To Sophie - it didn't quite fit. Not to mention the fact she was the eldest - destined to have the most boring life out of any of her sisters. 

After beginning her apprenticeship in the hat shop, she would often gaze out to the moors - or as the townspeople like to refer them - the Wastes. Something called her there, something unknown yet familiar, as if the very fibres of her being yearned wander them until she was as much a part of the moors as she was a part of the town. Perhaps even more. 

Every now and then - at dusk, when Fanny had gone off gallivanting again - she would close the hat shop, take a tram to the edge of town and go and sit among the first pastures that bordered the wastes. 

She heard a lot of gossip in the hat shop, too. Gossip about the wastes and who inhabited them. Wild Faeries - they would say. 

She hadn't heard much of faeries - only a few important things which everyone in Market Chipping ought to know. Ground rules, if that's what you would call them. 

1. Never go out to the wastes after dusk
2. Never interact with a faerie - if you do: be curt, don't accept anything, and don't lie - find a way around the truth. Speak like a faerie
3. Present a gift to any Hawthorn you pass, so that you may not displease them.
4. Never give a faerie your true name. Never.
5. Never step into a faerie ring, so long as you live.

Sophie had never met a faerie, so she couldn't be sure how they were - she didn't want to judge too harshly. But neither had anyone she knew; except old Jacob - who was a shepherd at the edge of town. But that was 50 years ago when The Witch was the self-proclaimed Fae Queen of the Wastes. She had long disappeared to who knows where. 

People were becoming to fear faeries less and less in those times, but it all changed when rumours of a particularly wicked one came into the hat shop one early April afternoon. 

"He is horridly beautiful I hear." Lady Charlotte Mulberry said, eyes wide. 

"And his victims in the south were the hearts of young women." Gasped her companion. 

Another Lady, a younger girl butted in. "Oh! And now he's here - in the wastes. Oh, why here?" 

"For new prey - that's what." Spoke Lady Melanie, an older gossip, pointing to the younger woman. There was a conniving glint in her eyes. She was the sort who liked a good scare story, Sophie thought, rolling her eyes. 

People began to self-impose curfews about town - hardly anybody came out after 7, just for fear that Howl (for that was his name) would stroll into town and claim a new victim. 

And wild rumours began as to why Howl may steal hearts - for what could a fae do with them? Some people supposed he may be selling them to witches. Others that he had a debt to repay. The general consensus was that he just did it for the fun of it - plain and simple wickedness. 

Sophie, in a rather counter-cultured manner, began to find more interest in going to the moors. Besides, she wasn’t worried about him victimising her , she reasoned; she wasn’t the type for someone who is horridly beautiful. 

Occasionally; as the sun sank low in the horizon, often on a cloudless, windy day; a black figure could be seen wandering the moors if one spent enough time studying them - which Sophie did - because she was bored. 

She figured it was Howl, doing whatever he must be doing. Which seemed like not much in her opinion, but who was she to judge? 

It was one such morning of trimming hats and staring out her window when Sophie noticed something strange on the moors. The same black figure wandering up near the wildflower fields. Across from the figure, about a mile off - give or take - appeared another figure. This one was a shock of red. She wished she was closer to watch. Pausing and placing her hat on the stand, she opened the window, hanging out of it and watching, waiting to see what would happen next. She suspected something of faerie nature. She was correct. 

The shock of red formed and grew, until it looked somewhat like a bear, except a lot bigger than a normal one. In response, the black figure also changed, in a plume of smoke. It transformed into a great stag and stomped. There was a brief pause, then the two creatures charged at each other at similar speeds. Sophie watched with a mix of curiosity and horror as, in the last possible second, the great stag jumped up over the bear and grew wings, flying up into a nearby low-lying cloud. She was in shock, not quite believing her eyes. She dared not tell anyone, but she was sure she was not the only one who had seen it. 

She was right. For the next week it was the talk of the town, of the hat shop. Everyone suspected it was The Witch back on the prowl. It was only when she sauntered into town one dusk, a wolfhound on each side, growling and snapping like beasts towards townspeople - that the people knew for certain. Their 50 years of peace was over. 

Around mid-march, a week and a half after the return of The Witch, a castle was spotted emerging on the wastes, but instead of fears, curiosity sprung up. It was a terribly strange castle, for it moved about. From the foothills of the mountains to the pastures near the town it roved the moors, doing nothing in particular, save scaring the townspeople or a flock of sheep when it ventured too close for comfort. 

Like many people, Sophie began to wonder about it. Who lived there? Why now? Why is everything happening all at once? Everyone had rather forgotten about Howl too, until Daphne Smith came running into the hat shop one afternoon. She was to leave Market Chipping a few days early and demanded a hat lined with iron as soon as possible. Howl is back, she said. And he made off with young Phillis Benet not three days prior. 

It seems he was as cruel as The Witch then. Pity. 

Tired of the drama, Sophie discarded her doubts about the rumours and decided to get on with hat making, vowing to herself to wait it out. Time passed and as expected, Sophie rather forgot about the whole debacle. There is only so much worrying and thinking one can do before they have to get on with their life, after all. 

She never lost her longing for the Wastes though. 

-+- 

It became normal to see the castle about the Wastes, as it was the Witch or the Stag. People began to ease towards their new neighbours, though the curfew stayed. Unable to resist for long, Sophie began to wander out towards them again and rest in the pastures. Fanny and her sisters had begun to nag less, and she was sure with her dull red hair and freckles that she wouldn't be of any consequence to the faeries. 

One late April evening, on a day off, she was walking the Wastes. She had fallen asleep under an apple tree and left it late. The stars were starting to peek out on the blue-orange sky, the sun low on the horizon, shimmering and glowing bright. She could see the moon opposite it, full and fat and luminous. It was breezy at that time, the heat of the day mostly gone. She smiled into the breeze, feeling alive. Market Chipping below her was starting to glow and the hustle and bustle of the town was dying down as the day came to a close. 

She realised belatedly that she was further out than ever before. She couldn't bring herself to feel afraid, however. Here, all her feelings of inadequacy and plainness didn't matter. She didn't even feel them . 

Across from her, she saw a strange mound of dirt among the rocks. Curious and distracted, she moved closer. Something tugged in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. She stepped onto a particular patch of lichen and felt a rumble across the ground below her traveling from her foot in the direction of the mound. Looking to the ground at her feet she realised her mistake. 

She was one foot in a faerie ring, the faded red mushroom almost laughing up at her foolishness. Rule 5 - Broken. 

Chapter Text

She jerked her foot away like it had been burned, lichen falling from the sole of her shoe, freezing as she watched the scene before her. Her mind screamed to run but her body was a statue. 

The air around her stilled as well, birds quieting and her ears ringing as blood rushed to them. The breeze stopped, and it felt like the land itself was waiting alongside her. 

The rumble reached the mound, and it began to grow; up, up, taller, taller, until it loomed over her like a great big oak. (Except it was only about eight or nine feet.) Dirt rolled off it and worms and beetles tried to escape as it grew. It shook, the roots surrounding it tightening and loosening in a pulsating manner. Sophie watched in horror. 

A low, rumbling voice emerged from it. 

“Hello young one.” 

Sophie trembled. “Hello.” 

“Fret not.” It said. “I am not upset that you stood in my ring.” 

“You’re not?” 

It shook. “No. But I ask that you tell me your name.” 

Sophie started. She knew of rule 4, obviously. Fanny had made the girls give themselves fake names to give to such fae when they were just young, and she had recently become their stepmother. “To get used to associating with it.” She would say.  

Sophie tried to sound natural when she spoke. “Aria.” 

It seemed to accept that, nodding. “Hmm, Aria. Nice name. Pretty name.” It trailed off and stared at her. Well, as much as a giant mound of dirt and roots can stare. 

After a few seconds; Sophie couldn’t take it much longer. She slowly began to back away, watching for any movement from the mound. It stayed still, letting her. 

Feeling safer at an acceptable distance, she curtseyed. “May you have a good day- er - evening, sir.” Then she hurried off, occasionally looking back to witness it sink back into the earth again. 

Five minutes later she stopped and took a moment to ground herself, softly dropping down into the wildflower patch. That was a strange, mildly terrifying, but not entirely bad experience. She couldn’t be sure, though. It could have cursed her yet. She was glad that she had used a fake name, perhaps she could be safe yet. 

She surveyed her surroundings. Stars were beginning to appear on the deep blue sky, winking down at her. The wind was back, breezier now and almost joyful. A dark blue shadow cast across the moors, slightly illuminated by the white moonlight. It was beautiful. It was also highly dangerous; as dusk crept in - the night creatures began to emerge. 

Picking up herself and her skirts, she began the trek back to town, hurrying in big treads down the hill, watching out for bats flying low or signs of either the Witch or Howl. Or the Castle. 

Fortunately, she made it to the town, releasing a breath in relief. 

The streets were empty, and she had a fair walk – about 20 minutes – to their home above the shop. She would have to sneak in the window, too, she thought with a groan, if Fanny were back. 

It was eerie; the town at night. The dim lamps were lit, as were windows in the buildings – though they were all covered by curtains or blinds. They flickered with the ebbing wind, which whistled through the streets at impulse. She frowned at it. “You better not blow these lamps out on me, wind.” She warned. 

She reached the street across from the shop, happy to now see it in her sights. This day had been eventful enough for a lifetime, and she tried to convince herself that she would rather make 100 hats than ever go through it again. A small part of her conceded. (A small part.) 

Sneaking in the window had been easy enough, as she had done it many times as a child. She was quiet, she always had been able to creep around undetected, footfalls a whisper - even on the creakiest of floors; a small talent which she was secretly proud of.  

Surprisingly, she slept well that night, dreams littered with memories of the strange fae encounter and winking stars and the breeze, which, felt more and more like a person in and of itself the longer she spent in The Wastes. 

-+- 

It was Mayday. Market Chipping was bustling with activity – people swarming the town square from all over the country – trading and buying. The hat shop was much busier than usual – Fanny had gone to the trouble of managing the shop for the day – something that Martha responded to with sarcasm in her letters to Sophie. ‘She just wants all the attention.’ Sophie reprimanded her sister but, in the end, couldn’t fully disagree. 

Sophie and the girls were making and trimming hats and pinning them and decorating and checking and rechecking, then sending them out at a great pace. She broke a sweat at least once, and pricked her fingers many times more than usual. 

At lunchtime, when Fanny decided to give her an hours’ break to go and visit Martha at Cesaris’. She wouldn’t dare refuse, glad of a breather. 

So out she was, into the fray of Mayday. Basket in hand and drab grey hat on head, she pushed her way through the crowds towards the lonelier side streets in the direction of Cesaris’ Bakery. 

People crowded the streets, all fears pushed aside for the Mayday celebrations. People from all over the continent chattered in their various languages and carried around bags of traded goods and purchases. Some sat lining the streets, waiting for the parade, while others hurried about from stall to shop, trying to get anything and everything they could. It rather overwhelmed Sophie, who didn’t much like crowds or noise; and who wasn’t accustomed to either. 

She ducked into an alley beside a pub, knowing it was likely the most solitary route to the Bakery she could take, though a little longer than she would have liked. Something unnerved her about the crowds today. It was as if she sensed something strange among them. Her mind kept nagged somewhere to the far right, near the fountain, where a taller figure sat; a slim woman wearing a black, wide brimmed hat, reading a book. She didn’t like it – she was determined to avoid that area and the woman if she could – hence part of her reason for choosing this alley. 

She wouldn’t be undisturbed for long. 

“Hello, little mouse. Have you lost your way in this crowd?” 

What crowd? Sophie scowled. “No, thank you sir. I’m quite alright.” 

Apparently, not expecting that reaction, the elfish man frowned, a sort of confused look on his face. 

That was when Sophie really got a chance to look at him. He was tall and blond, hair reaching to just above his shoulders. He wore a blue and gold suit, with dramatic wide sleeves and elaborate embroidery decorating it. 

He smelled of hyacinths and his pose; leaning against the wall outside the pub, was one of suave confidence. That wasn’t what got her though. It was his air. 

He was fairly plain looking, though he possessed a sort of elfish beauty at first glance. He was almost too coarse, too sharp. There was a glimmer to his looks, as if he was hiding his real self. Sophie saw right through those sorts of charms – she always had. 

When Madame Ivory had first gotten a fae to charm her eyes blue – Sophie had still seen the green from before. She had mentioned the mistake, when Ivory had come into the shop to brag to Fanny, only to be shushed by her stepmother and told to fetch tea. 

She wondered who he was that he was so heavily charmed. 

His eyes glimmered down at her, a mischief in them. She had been studying him for too long. She supressed a groan. 

“May a walk you to wherever you head, my lady?” 

She frowned again. He is still pursuing? He must be delusional. Or strange. “There will be no need.” 

He didn’t seem phased. Though she noticed his eyes flicker anxiously towards the square outside the alley. She glanced back. The woman was still there, though her book was now closed in her hands and her attention towards them, unwavering from people passing by, briefly blocking her view. 

Sophie began to feel afraid. She didn’t want to have anything to do with these people, and she would much rather they sort it out on their own, should there be anything going on there. She was not to get involved again in any sort of mischief. 

She curtseyed to the charmed man, and, not daring to look back, rushed away down the alley, not stopping for a breath until she reached Cesaris' and was safe in the door. 

Chapter Text

Martha gasped. “You should be happy you are alive, Sophie! If that were Howl, or The Witch, you could be dead.” 

I could still yet be dead, Sophie thought. 

“Well, I'm alright now, aren't I? Don't worry about me Martha.” 

She didn't look convinced. “If you say so... I'll still worry though, we are family.” Noticing Sophie's discomfort on the topic, she changed it. “Anyways, how is the hat shop?” 

“Business is good, Fanny is happy, customers are happy...” 

“Sophie, are you happy?” 

Sophie smiled. “As I'll ever be.” 

Martha's eyes were pleading. “This is your life, live it the way you want. Just as Lettie and I have done.” 

But Sophie was resigned. “I’m fine, I'm happy, really.” She didn't know who she was trying to convince, herself or her sister. 

Someone called from the back. “Lettie! We need you up front!” 

Martha grimaced. “I've got to go. I'll visit soon, kay?” 

She held her sisters' hands. Sophie responded with a squeeze. 

She got up from the crate to go. Martha called back from through the door. “Be safe!” 

Sophie whispered back. “I will.” 

She slunk around the back of the bakery, stopping momentarily to watch the hordes of people - mostly men, outside the shop, pushing and shoving to get in. Most of them were shouting ’Lettie, here!’ ’Serve me Lettie’. She shook her head, Martha was happy, so that was all that mattered. 

Martha’s words kept playing in her mind as she made her way back to the hat shop. Was she happy? Or had she just resigned herself to the life of the eldest? She would have to be happy wherever she was put, she didn't have much chance of a fortune otherwise as the eldest, and if Fanny wanted her to take over the family business, she would have to be happy there. Besides, she was right next to the moors, so she would be happy. It was decided. 

She made her way into the square toward the shop, still surprised at the crowds despite the lingering afternoon, and got back to work. 

-+- 

Three days later, when she had come back from a dusk walk in the moors, she received an unexpected visitor. She closed up the shop, locked the door, made her way to the desk, candle in hand, and placed her hat on the stand. She walked over to the mirror and observed herself in it, sighing. 

That was when she heard the movement behind her, by the door. 

Her head whipped around, and her blood ran cold. The woman from mayday stood in the foyer of the shop, smiling wickedly at her. They stood in a standstill for a moment before Sophie shakily spoke. 

“The shop is closed, ma’am. Please come back tomorrow.” 

The woman laughed. “I won't. You will serve me now, girl.” 

Sophie shuddered but stood her ground. “The shop is closed.” 

The woman sauntered about the room, inspecting a hat here and there, stopping at a beautiful blue one which Sophie had thought could have captured the stars. 

Despite her fading beauty, the woman's voice was old and coarse. There was a sinister ancient edge to it. “What strange hats you have, dear, charmed ones too.” 

“Charmed?” Sophie questioned. 

The woman laughed, no, cackled. She paused in her musings to turn her piercing eyes towards Sophie. 

“You must know why I am here.” Her eyes glinted, and it was then that Sophie belatedly realised something horrifying. She was dealing with a faerie. 

“I’m afraid I don't.” 

The faerie woman smiled, taking steps towards Sophie. “You, for whatever reason, have managed to capture the attention of my adversary, and I am not pleased. I intend to make. Him. Pay.” 

Sophie froze, feeling choked. The Woman smirked. “Tell Howl: The Witch sends her regards. Ta.” Then she left with a flurry, not making a sound as she floated through the closed door. 

Sophie felt she would have cried, but no tears left her eyes. She had been charmed, and by The Witch no less. It was like any emotion wanting to burst forth had been dulled, and she was left with a quiet, numb resolve. She looked at herself in the mirror, knowing she likely looked different, but not seeing it. “Drat this gift.” 

She would have to find Howl. And make him fix her. And she would have to leave tonight. 

-+- 

She staggered up to her room and quietly packed a bag, then, heading to the kitchen, she grabbed some bread and cheese and stuffed it in a handkerchief and into the bag. 

She wrote a note to Fanny, leaving it on the counter, making up some excuse for having to leave and that she would be back as soon as she could. 

Then into the crisp early morning she went. Just as dawn began to break. She walked the whole way to the edge of town, as the trams hadn't opened yet, and then on to the wastes. She was quite determined. She would find Howl, and she would find this castle, even if it was the end of her. She didn't have much to lose now.

She stepped out into the moors.

Chapter Text

It was a windy day. Tall grasses swayed to and fro, buffeted by gusts of wind. Sun showers occasionally interrupted the dry wind, but nothing to concern Sophie. It wasn’t the weather for a storm, and neither had she seen any indication for it, nor felt the telltale tingle down her spine or static in the air that would signal one was imminent. The windflowers tugged on their roots as the currents sped through the grasses, creating undulating waves. Sophie smiled. The moors came to life when the wind was about, working hand in hand to create this wild, free atmosphere.

She wandered for a while, having to stop for a rest more often than she felt she ought to for being only nineteen. She marched up the hill, enjoying the feeling of it all. And, briefly, she let herself realise what she was doing. She was going on an adventure. The eldest, going on a journey to change her fate. But that was what broke her out of it. She was trying to fix a mess she was in, and once it was over, she would go back to the hat shop and go back to her life.

Well, she would enjoy this moment.

She passed the area where she had encountered the faerie creature all those weeks ago, feeling strangely nostalgic at the memory. A small part of her was tempted to wander in that direction and see if the tree was around, but she denied it, partly for fear of being caught by it, and because she was determined to find howl before sunset. She’d really rather not spend the night on the moors.

When stopping for lunch near some crags on the edge of the plateau - where the farmland was beginning to dwindle and the wild moors began - Sophie met a young farmer. He passed her in horse and cart piled high with hay bales, a collie dog resting on the back. He slowed his cart, calling out to her.

“Excuse me Madam!”

She replied to him, confused at his formality. “Yes?”

Concern was etched in his expression. “Are you alright? Do you need passage anywhere?”

“No, I’m alright, don’t worry.”

He paused, scratching his moustache. “Where are you going, if you don’t mind me asking? You headed up to see grandchildren or something in the village a few ways off? There’s not much out other than faeries and livestock.“  “I can give you board for the night and take you in the morning.”

Sophie was surprised. She wasn’t used to this treatment, and… grandchildren? Unless? 

She called back, well aware of the strange question.

“How old do you think I am sir?”

He smiled, eyes twinkling. “Why madam, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

Sophie smiled back, thanked him warmly, assured him she was grand, and left him on his way.

She concluded that the charm The Witch had placed on her must have changed her age, and she must be old, an old lady in fact.

She grappled with this. On the one hand, it was rather fitting, and it would make things with Howl less complicated with her being old. On the other hand, she wasn’t old, and would rather keep it that way.

Oh well. She decided that she would make the most of it. After all, old people care less about things, and Sophie knew she ought to care less about things herself. She would embody this ‘new her’ while she searched for Howl to fix it - at least, to some degree.

Finishing her lunch, she noted that it was around late afternoon, and she really should be searching now. She didn’t know where to start. Where does one start when looking for a moving castle? She hiked up to the top of the plateau, heaving and spluttering from the effort, then scanned the valley. Nothing. She wandered the expanse of the fields and searched in little side valleys and stood atop the biggest rock she could climb. Still no castle.

It was getting late and Sophie was getting tired and grumpy. She was sweating and windswept and she really didn’t want to spend the night on the moors. Taking a deep breath, she decided to do the one thing she hadn’t tried, follow her intuition.

She felt herself drawn to a small hill across to the east. She followed it, tromping across heather, barely allowing herself to be hopeful in case of disappointment.

She rounded the corner of it only to be stopped by a shadow. Her heart jumped at the source of the shadow; a great castle with several turrets, made of black bricks and covered in snaking vines and flowering plants. It was small enough and utterly unconventional, but magnificent nonetheless. The more she studied it, the more rooms and windows and balconies and various other things she seemed to find within it, strange that it was.

It rested comfortable among the heather, and sheep grazed around it like it was nothing more than a hawthorn tree for them to shade under, the setting sun bathing it in an orange glow.

“Howls’ castle.” She whispered., suppressing the triumph and glee that threatened to emerge.

It was unmistakable, she had seen it countless times before on the moors, watching from her window in the hat shop. This was it. She marched forwards, determined to catch it, should it teleport somewhere else before she reached the entrance. She had no time to lose.

Coming upon the door, she stood on the steps, then stopped, suddenly nervous.

What would happen when she knocked? Would he receive her? Or reject her? Would she be kidnapped? The gravity of her current situation dawned upon her and she felt a little weak. She pulled it back and locked it in a cupboard in the back of her mind, having no time to be scared. She was already tempting fate by rejecting her birthright and having an adventure. 

Before she could stop herself, she rapped on the door. The she waited, heart thumping in her ears. The silence was palpable, and served only to further her apprehension.

The door creaked, then flung open. Inside was dark, excepting the remains of sunlight that glinted off old pots hanging on the roof. A spider scuttled out and past her foot. Sophie frowned, trying to adjust her eyes to the light. There was a dim orange glow in what seemed to be a fireplace by the left in the middle of the room, and a chair beside it.

“Hello?”

No one answered. Sophie stepped inside., the door shutting behind her with a creak and a click. It was then that Sophie realised how tired she was. The room was empty, and she didn't feel anything strange or amiss, despite the situation. Instead, she felt like she could sleep for a bit. She made her way to the fireplace and sat down.

“My my, that’s a nasty charm you got there.”

Sophie started.

There, on the fireplace, in the fire, was a little man. He seemed to be a part of the fire itself, glowing green and blue and orange. He had a little impish face, but kind eyes.

“I can see that some strong fae charmed you, lady.”

Sophie blinked, then sighed. “She did.”

The little mans ‘eyebrows’ raised. “The Witch?”

Sophie hmmed. “Yes indeed. Where is Howl? I know this is his castle. Are you Howl?”

The little man laughed. “I am not! I am Calcifer! A terrifyingly powerful star sprite.”

“Oh, sorry. Are you under Howls control?”

“Absolutely no!” He huffed. “I do all the work around here and keep this castle running. He relies on me!”

Sophie yawned. “You sound very strong.”

“I am.”

The fireplace was very warm. “Can you help me get un-charmed?”

Calcifer pretended to think about it. “I can, but you’ll have to stay a while.”

“Okay…” Sophie began to nod off.

Calcifers’ voice raised. “How will you convince Howl to let you stay? Hey! Wait! Don’t fall asleep, don’t-“

The fireplace faded away and sleep overcame her.

-+-

Sophie woke the next morning expecting to be in the hat shop, then was unpleasantly broken out of her doze by an angry star sprite and a small teenager wearing a strange looking cap thing. The teenager was holding a notebook and pens and staring at her while arguing with the star sprite - Calcifer? If she remembered. He was still resting in the fireplace like before.

She opened her eyes and observed the room, having not been noticed yet be either party. It appeared like a normal enough room. A pantry in one corner near the door, a dining area by a window that was piled wall to wall with Knick-knacks and books and papers and gems. It was the grime and dust that got her. She shuddered, craning her neck around to see behind her.

“Hey! Lady.”

Sophie turned back around. “Hello Calcifer.” She turned to the teenager. “Hello, who are you?”

The boy was confused. “I should be asking you that. I’m Michael, though.”

“Hello Michael, I’m the new cleaning lady.”

A deeper voice joined them from above. “You are?”

Sophie's’ head whipped around towards what she discovered was stairs.

It was the man from the Mayday!

‘Mouse man?’ She whispered. Calcifer behind her snorted. She sent him a frown, getting up and brushing off her skirts as the mouse man - Howl, she suspected - approached the three.

She looked up at his amused expression, feeling a little irritated at it, and hoped he couldn't see through the charm. “I’m the new cleaning lady, Calcifer hired me. It’s a terrible condition for a star sprite, this place. Or a teenager.” She gestured to Michael, who made a face.

He hummed, eyes suspicious, darting between the three, then held his hand out. “Howl, though I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours.”

Sophie shook his hand, though hesitantly. “I have.”

Howl smiled, teeth too white. “And your name is?”

Sophie paused. “Aria.”

Howl smiled again. “Well, ‘Aria’, do you like eggs and bacon?”

“Huh?”

Howl floated over to a cupboard and began collecting eggs and bacon in a basket, instructing Michael to set the table and making his way over to the fire to cook the food. Sophie frowned, confused, She didn’t know faeries could cook, or even did cook? Perhaps it was because Michael was a human? Was he? Sophie watched them in bafflement, until Howl beckoned her over to her own place at the table and she watched them all tuck in to food.

She stared at her own food for a moment. It dawned on her that she had broke most of the rules by now. But it was a little too late for worrying about that. She looked up at Howl to see him staring back.

“You can eat it, you know.”

Sophie tried to find the appropriate words.

Howl interrupted her. “It’s just food, not gifts or anything. Besides, I couldn’t charm you anyway. Did she give you a message for me?”

Remembering why she was here in the first place, Sophie angrily took a bite of bacon. She couldn’t hide anything from him apparently, well, except her name.

“Yeah. Something about ‘you have managed to capture his attention’ and ‘making Howl pay’.” “She sends her regards.” Sophie grumbled into her plate.

“It’s happening Howl.” Michael spoke, tone worried.

Sophie looked up, and a darkness was creeping up Howls’ fingernails, travelling down his hands and up his arms past the shirt sleeves. He gritted his teeth, and with a sweep, was out of the room and upstairs.

“He’ll be fine tomorrow.” Michael assured.

Sophie finished her breakfast, not even bothering to process all that had happened, and began to plan how she would even start to clean the mess that was Howls’ castle.