Howl's Twisted Castle

14: Scarlet

Lettie once told me that my creative genius stems from a well-developed imagination. For instance, once, when I heard a noise in the middle of the night, I had imagined that there was a raving madman in our shop. He was either destroying our displays, or stealing our hats, or possibly dancing on our counters. In a panic, I woke Lettie up and begged her to find out what had caused the noise, only to find that a stray cat had found its way into the pantry and knocked over the waste pail. She flicked my forehead and told me to give my imagination a rest.

Her advice would have helped at this moment. I'm not sure what I had expected when I entered Howl's room. . . Maybe a brothel, or a torture chamber, or a gateway to another world, but I could never have imagined his room to look so intensely. . . Plain.

His bed was made neatly with crisp white sheets covered by a worn beige quilt that betrayed no signs of use in the last little while. The furniture was much like the set in my room; there was a simple solid wood armoire which no doubt contained his suits, a mirror in the corner of the room that I did my best to avoid, and a long desk that had a few items laid out in a neat and orderly fashion.

At first, I told myself I wasn't going to raid his belongings, but now that I stood here, I couldn't stop myself. Three things occupied the desk: a top hat which I recognized as my creation, a pair of glasses, and a picture in a frame. I picked up the top hat and felt along the inside seam until I found my label and my heart lifted. If there was any chance I could tell him who I was, I had to show him this label.

I picked up his glasses, put them on and learned something quite quickly; Howl was blind as a bat. Honestly, I could have seen better through a dinner plate than with these awful things. How he could manage without them was the real mystery here. I rubbed the smudge on the lens with the hem of my dress and set them down where I found them.

The picture gave me pause, and for a moment I wondered how he could have possibly taken it. I held it in my hands and sat on the corner of the bed trying my best to remember how I came to be in this little photo in Howl's room.

***

A short time after our father passed away, Lettie had thrown herself into the community, volunteering us for every little thing the town needed. If the animal shelter required dog walkers, we were there holding the leashes, if the church needed cooks for their Friday community dinners, we wielded the ladles and donned our aprons. So naturally, when there were whispers of a community play, Lettie volunteered instantly, throwing my hand up along with hers. 

For the most part, I was reluctant to get involved, but when Lettie insisted my role was to design and create costumes rather than act, I was more willing to help. 

In no time my room was covered in designs for the play, and I was lining up the actors inside our shop to take measurements. I had an ample budget, and with the amount of time I was spending at the fabric shop, I may as well have packed my bags and moved in permanently. 

With her natural beauty, Lettie was the first and only choice for the leading lady. Her charm and charisma won over the scriptwriters before they could announce a formal casting call. I read over her script and agreed that it suited her well and before I knew it, I was helping her practice her part of Scarlet O'Hara.

I had taken a few of the mannequins from the shop and moved them into the spare room at the back of the store so I could work uninterrupted on the costumes of the cast. With my book smarts, I'd memorized everyone's scripts and helped Lettie prepare for her role. 

I bit down on a needle as I attempted to pin multiple layers of fabric while Lettie reviewed her lines. I snatched the pin and stuck it in the layers, securing the ruching in place. Turning on my stool, I fixed her with a stern look.