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Howl was used to hallucinations every once in a while.
When one traveled between dimensions as often as he did, some headaches and itchiness were inevitable.
Sometimes, he mistook his sister's age and gave her the wrong gift from Ingary; other times, he forgot to put more wood out for Calcifer and gave it to Michael, mistaking their bodies.
Combined with his nightmares of that dreadful old hag, Howl didn’t always have a good tether to reality.
Thus, when he saw a ninety-year-old woman bully his demon into turning into a stove and make him breakfast one morning, he just blinked and tilted his head owlishly.
That had looked like a fun hallucination. One of the best, if he could say so himself.
She even made his eggs and bacon right.
The smell was divine, too.
He hoped she’d leave soon, though.
After all—
"I can't have you around when I'm doing the potions and spells," he told her, ignoring the way the old woman put on her apron and shoved every book on the table to the floor.
"You'd confuse me."
And confusion led to him doing the wrong measure and blowing things up.
The old lady merely raised her eyebrows, cleaned the table, and arranged the books in a pile with a spoken, "I see."
Then, she corrected Michael’s seating pose and gave him a plate and proper utensils.
Howl's own breakfast was served soon after.
He looked down on it just as she sat up too.
He shrugged; his silent plea for her to go away ignored, he proceeded to gobble up his food with a hum.
She would confuse him indeed.
Despite his assumptions that "Sophie" was a one-time hallucination, he was apparently terribly wrong.
Because she didn’t leave.
In fact, he suddenly saw her everywhere: sometimes cleaning his room despite his protests, or leaving food out for him.
Then, she talked to a weirdly vivid Scarecrow and demanded he'd help with chores.
Michael had his clothes mended twice over within the span of four hours.
Things went missing from his castle, and he spent three hours finding them again—only to realize Sophie merely put them in boxes or less messy places, easier to access.
Howl convinced himself he had drunk too much this time, thanks to that last one.
After all, he never cleaned his office that well.
Calcifer cackled and told him he hadn’t been drinking at all when Howl voiced his suspicions.
That made him look down and wonder.
… Did he mess up his beauty routine then?
It certainly would explain the headaches and the way Sophie stared holes into his head.
Michael gave him a look from where he was fixing up a potion and then sighed.
On the third evening, Howl caught her out of the corner of his eye after a stumble.
She was darning a sock with brisk, youthful fingers—a complete contrast to the wrinkly form he was used to seeing her in.
She almost reminded him of the girl he'd "saved" a few days ago; her protests still stuck in his head, with her back straighter and her hair chestnut instead of gray.
Howl blinked twice at the scene, trying to see if he had hit his head, when his eyes widened as the impression returned to the old woman, frowning fiercely at her needlework.
"I wanted a cross stitch, not a back one," she muttered grumpily, then scolded as she fixed it. "You can't just stay a mess when someone is supposed to wear you, you know."
It almost looked like another one of her stitches fixed itself as she spoke, as if guilty.
“Ah,” Howl murmured, his head hurting less. “It was wobbly."
His hallucination continued grumbling.
The wizard had probably just had something in his eyes.
He’d almost considered levitating the sock back to him, but thought better of it.
Why waste magic on hallucinations?
He could waste it on much more important things, like adding another paraphernalia to his room.
"Keep staring like that and you'll get slapped," Sophie told him, not even looking up, sighing.
He pouted. That was rude.
"Those aren't words a woman should say, my dear apparition," Howl said seriously.
'Sophie' should be a cheerful illusion, not a nagging housekeeper.
The old woman just rolled her eyes, muttering that he was a fool.
He gave her a sulk and moved back to his lab; that blacksmith's tool wasn’t going to fix itself.
On the fifth (or seventh? Was it Wednesday? If so, it was probably the ninth) day, his apprentice appeared to have given up arguing.
He now decided to just spill “truths.”
“She’s real,” he whispered to Howl while Sophie scoured the walls with energy not fit for her age—further evidence of her being a hallucination.
“She even fixed a hole in the ceiling,” he said, pointing up; indeed, it was fixed.
“Her sister had even threatened you once,” he reminded him.
Hmm. The girl had indeed looked quite scary. Not to mention their ‘mother’ reactions…
Still.
“Hallucinations need to be well thought out,” he corrected the orphan simply. “It wouldn’t be fun if ‘Sophie’ were a decrepit old woman.”
Howl wasn’t imaginationless.
He was vain and proud of the care he took to maintain his beauty, despite Sophie’s many complaints about his "dirtying” the bathroom—not dumb.
And he hadn’t felt anything when that parasol threatened to stab him.
It only ever felt like one of Michael’s weird pinches and Sophie’s slaps.
Little strength, albeit good technique.
Michael groaned into his sleeve.
Calcifer facepalmed.
Sophie just ignored them all, holding a bucket.
On the thirteenth morning, the matter came to a head.
A farmer’s wife, a regular of theirs from the hills, came into the shop, having wanted a spell to stop her crops from rotting too quickly.
She bobbed politely to Michael, then turned to 'Sophie', who was folding laundry into unnervingly precise squares.
“Good morning,” said the woman cheerfully, albeit with some confusion. “I'm really sorry to ask this, but… er, who are you…?”
Sophie looked up sharply, an equally polite smile on her face. “I’m the housekeeper. I clean the mess in this place.”
The customer's eyes widened. “Oh, so it's you!” She said wondrously. “I had heard rumors, but—”
Rumors?
Hah, as if.
There was no way his hallucination was that well thought out, even for Howl—
Wait.
He instantly turned back to Margareth, who had quickly started chatting with his "housekeeper" as Michael tried to find her spell among Sophie’s meticulous organization.
Margareth was actually talking with Sophie.
A real, flesh-and-blood person was talking with his supposed hallucination.
Howl froze.
For one dizzying instant, he thought back to every time Sophie’s lips pursed, every time she told him that he sucked and yet sighed exasperatedly, almost fondly.
His face went very pale as realization finally hit, Calcifer grumbling in the back.
“Oh,” he whispered in horror. “You’re not in my head after all.”
You're a woman rearranging his castle as she pleases.
“Certainly not,” said Sophie briskly, hands on her hips as Margareth blinked in confusion. “Now stop dripping pondweed on the floor.”
Howl clutched his chest, reality colliding too fast for his brain to catch up. He reeled and collapsed with a magnificent thud. His blue and silver cloak puddled around him like a banner in defeat.
They all stared before…
Calcifer promptly choked with laughter, throwing sparks so high they scorched the beam.
Michael gasped.
Sophie, with admirable composure, stepped over Howl’s prone form and grabbed the potion from Michael's stiff pose.
She gave it to Margareth and bid her jaw-dropping self farewell.
Then, she pulled Howl up by his back and muttered about his dramatics with an exasperated scoff.