Full description: Memories sear my mind, lighting the closed lids of my eyes in orange and crimson light - like flickering flames; they overwhelm me, their essence pouring through my veins like molten metal in place of blood, and everywhere they touch burns with most agonizing pain - as if I am caught on fire merely by viewing these events of past so long since gone by. I can almost feel the skin peeling from my arms, but when I look down, I am entirely unharmed.
Alyssa Hatter is forced to work at the hat shop that her father left behind and her mother refuses to care for, along with her twin sister - Sophie Hatter. The work is tiring and dull, but everything will change when she meets a handsome stranger.
He saves her from some soldiers and then he gave her a taste of the magic of flight. Then he disappeared, leaving her with nothing more than a memory of blonde hair and glassy blue eyes promising desire.
Later that night, she is cursed by a witch jealous of her and the blonde stranger's budding relationship, and her twin sister is dragged into the mess with her. Ashamed, the two flee and find themselves in Howl's castle.
Will Howl be able to break the curse that Alyssa is under?
And will she discover the truth behind the mysterious demon and Howl's own curse?

Well, this fanfiction idea came to me when I was watching the movie and saw Howl. Like, seriously: hottie! And while I loved Sophie and Howl's relationship, I wanted to try my hand at writing Howl/OC. Thus, Alyssa Hatter, the older twin sister of Sophie Hatter, was born.

Warning(s): This is an OC-centric fanfiction, and Howl is paired with the OC. If you are exceptionally fond of Sophie/Howl and refuse to read anything else, why the hell did you click on this? *nervous laughter* No, what I meant to say is, then you may not want to read further. Yeah. Oh, and it's AU.

Disclaimer: I, Sarah Holles, do not own Howl's Moving Castle, nor do I own any of the quotes that begin the chapters. I do, however, own Alyssa Hatter and her little plot-line. Please don't try to steal her from me.

Dreaming of Howl

Chapter 1
Meeting

"Everything that you wanted, I have done."
–Jareth (David Bowie), Labyrinth

It was a beautiful summer's day when I first met him, the love of my life.

Of course, up in the Wastes, where he lived, it was not quite so beautiful. There was a thick cloud of fog that hung low to the ground, a gloomy opulent gray color. I have no doubt that it was quite cold up there, in the fog; it always is, since the fog has ice crystals in it to keep it in place. He always did love to hide.

His castle, a large, lumbering thing – and I don't really know if you could call it much of a castle, since it was rather tacky and, like I said earlier, quite lumbering – it was on the prowl again, wandering in and out of the thick fog for a new place to hide.

Its hinges creaked and groaned, as they are wont to do, and steam hissed out of every chimney, accompanied by the thick black smoke, soot-filled and dirty.

All in all, it was quite an impossible thing to miss, even from far away – as I was on that day.

Down the mountainous hills from where his castle roamed was the small town that I called home, that I, and my sisters, had been raised in. Bells tolled, their brassy tones echoing off of the rocks of the high up mountains that fenced in the town, and the train, with its long black plume of thick smoke trailing behind it quite a ways and its whistling horn, rumbled through the town on its tracks, rattling every house and shop that was on its borders.

The windows rattle slightly in their panes as my younger twin-sister, Sophie, continues to sew her newest hat together, her fingers nimble and her movements smooth.

I always envied my twin her graceful nature, something that I never had – though she would much like to disagree.

The mistress of the shop, while our mother was away, knocks on the open door of our work-room. She wears one of the hats my sister has made, as well as a long purple and white pinstripe dress that hangs off her figure in the latest fashion. Even in its simplicity, its much nicer than anything in mine, or my sister's, closet.

"Sophie, Alyssa," the grandmotherly woman says, smiling gently at the two of us as I bustle about the tables, cleaning the mess that our work-room always is.

My sister looks at the woman, pausing in her sewing, and I glance at my sister – again admiring the way her long braid of beautiful, smooth brown hair falls gently down her back.

My hair was never like hers, not even after the curse. Mine I inherited from our mother – thick curls that were never manageable. And my hair color, too, was never as beautiful as her chocolate brown locks – elegant in their simplicity; mine were a few shades off of Mother and Lettie's dark golden blonde hair, with strands of firey red interwoven in the dirty blonde curls.

"We just closed the shop," the woman continues, not noticing that my attention has strayed from her. "You've both done enough work; why don't you come with us this time?"

Sophie looks at me, her eyes pleading, and I shrug.

"You're free to go, y'know, sis," I tell her, in the low timbre of my voice (only a few octaves short of the tones of a man). "I can finish the hat you're working on and go visit Lettie; I've got time. Besides, you spend too much time here; go out, have fun. I'll finish up here."

"If you're sure," my sister says skeptically, raising one fine eyebrow above her warm brown eyes.

My eyes have always been strange; my irises are this light, silvey green, and the shape of my eyes is narrow and cat-like, unlike the wide, innocent shape of all of my family's. Speaking of my family, no one has ever had lightly colored eyes – let alone the silvery green that mine are. Just a strange anomaly, according to my mother. But my father and I always believed there was something more to the color, and shape, of my eyes.

"I am." I nod, and Sophie slides out of her chair and takes off her apron, handing it to me.

I hang it on a hook I made for it, and I take her place on the chair as she slides past the woman in the doorway to get ready to go.

"Are you sure you don't want to come, Alyssa?" the gray-haired woman asks me, skeptical of my want to stay home.

I shake my head as I pick up the needle and hat. "No, I'd better finish this. You all go and have fun."

The woman sighs. "All right, suit yourself."

She turns and walks out. "Let's go, girls!"

The girls all race after her, giggling and chattering, and I spot my sister with her friends, smiling and laughing and already having a wonderful time. A pang of sadness hits me, a sigh of resigned sadness at having no one to laugh and smile with building up in my throat, but I swallow both, dismissing them in favor of the work I still have to finish.

Suddenly a cry comes that attracts all of the girls: "Look! It's Howl's castle!"

They all scurry over to the window, looking much like a flock of gaggling birds with feathers in every shade and color, and they all sigh and giggle; I even spot Sophie in the crowd of admirers for Howl.

They chatter about the castle, and even the old woman comes closer to the window to get a better look, her mouth hanging open.

I sigh and resume sewing, catching a glimpse of the large castle in the distance as I glance at the windows before me. It lumbers into the fog just as a few planes fly by, and it disappears, leaving only a small trail of black smoke behind to remind the world of its passing.

"He's gone," one girl says, sighing.

"No," another says, challenging. "He's just hiding in the fog from those planes."

I shake my head and turn the hat over, finishing up the sewing.

"Did you hear what happened to that girl, Martha?" a girl asks. "In South Haven? They say Howl tore her heart out."

The girls all start to wander away from the window, in small, colorful groups.

"Now I'm scared to go out!" another girl exclaims fearfully, clutching her hands to her chest.

"What?"

Her friend leans closer to her, a wide smile on her face. "Don't be; he only preys on pretty girls," she teases.

They all start laughing – even the elderly woman.

"All right, let's go," she says, merry laughter tinging her voice.

I dig around in the overflowing box of decorations for something more to add, grabbing a pink flower as the one girl, afraid of Howl, whines to the others. I hold it against the hat, judging to see if it looks good.

It looks nice, and so I set it aside and grab the needle and thread, stitching it in place with quick rows of stitches.

Another train goes by just as I finish the hat, and as the whistle of the train sounds, I set the completed hat down upon a frame for it. I consider making another, but I decide against upon judging the position of the sun, seeing what time it is.

I stand and brush my own apron off, taking it off and setting it atop a small pile of books. I grab my hat, a simple straw hat with a pink ribbon wrapping around it – paired with three cotton-candy pink berries – and then I leave the small adjoining collection of rooms, walking into the main shop.

I admire all of the hats there as I walk through the room, but upon seeing another hat, a small, light blue fedora dusted with silvery glitter. There's a crimson ribbon wrapped around it at the base, tying off into a cute, classic bow.

Mother had told me before that if I saw a hat that I liked, I could take it and pay for it later, at much less of its original price.

And so I take the hat, exchanging it for the straw one, and I slip the fedora on, admiring it in the mirror.

I find that I look sort of good in it, but then my eyes wander to my too small nose, my too high cheekbones, the awkward point that my chin comes to, the ugly way that my wildly curly hair flies out around my face in an untameable mess. Huffing in frustration, I tilt the brim of the fedora down so that it shadows my face and stride out.

I lock the door to the shop behind me and tuck the key into my simple, long-sleeve, mint-green dress into my pocket as I walk down the stairs.

The town is bustling, as usual, but there are even more cars and such than usual. I hurry my pace as I walk across the street to where the trolley waits.

I'm the last one on, climbing on to the first step after a brunet man. I grasp the bar with my hand tightly and wait on the step as the trolley begins to drive off. The wind blows by gently, causing my dress to billow out about my legs and my curls to tangle on themselves further.

We cross over a bridge, the brassy fanfare of the marching band a companion to our passing as tanks drive below the bridge.

There's a parade in the main town-square, but I ignore the festivities as I climb off of the trolley and cross the street to the back-alleys leading to where Lettie works.

I keep my hands, curled into tight fists, jammed into my pockets as I walk past a curious soldier, dodging his inquiring gaze. I pass by an entrance on to the main road, and I check the directions on the piece of paper I have tucked into my pocket, turning away from the entrance on to another set of back-roads.

I walk slowly down the alley, eventually coming nose-to-chest with a cocky soldier. I step back and look up to see him smirking down at me in a way that spells danger.

"Hey," he drawls, leaning forward. "Looks like a little mouse lost its way."

I step back a few feet, shaking my head nervously; the sound of my pulse echoes in my ears as I stare at the imposing soldier. "Oh . . . no, I'm not lost," I say, my voice trembling.

"This little mouse looks thirsty," the soldier continues as his companion walks over. "We should take her for a cup of tea."

"No, thanks," I say, ducking so that my face is hidden beneath the brim of my fedora. "My sister's expecting me."

"She's pretty cute for a mouse," the other man, with a large brown mustache hanging on his upper lip, says, leaning down so he can peer beneath the brim of my hat.

"How old are you anyway?" the first man asks, grinning. "You live around here?"

I step back further. "Leave me alone!" I snap, praying to whichever god watches over us that my voice is strong and convincing.

"You see?: the blonde one says to his companion, smirking. "Your mustache scares all the girls."

"So?" the brunet asks. "I think she's even cuter when she's scared."

I press my fist to my chest to hide its trembling and stare, feeling my heart just about to rip straight out of my chest and tap dance on the cobblestone.

But then a voice sounds behind me, a low, masculine drawl tinged with musical tones of seduction and promise of passion-filled nights in sweat-stained sheets, low moans of pleasure with no end; the sound of it makes my toes curl in my boots and my body heat up. "There you are, sweetheart. Sorry I'm late."

A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I stiffen at the pleasant electric tingles that shoot up and down my body from the point of contact. The owner of the hand leans closer to me, enveloping me in the comfortable warmth they radiate. The scent of his (for I'm sure it's a man by the sound of his voice) cologne, sandalwood, musk, and lavender, washes over me, a delectable mix of scents that further emphasizes the seduction in his voice.

"I was looking everywhere for you." His arm slowly slides to rest on my shoulder, and from the corner of my eye, I catch sight of shoulder-length platinum blonde hair and a coat, pink with light blue diamonds printed on to its fabric, hanging off of his shoulders.

"Hey, hey!" the blonde man snaps at my savior. "We're busy here!"

"Are you really?" my savior asks, his voice sharpening slightly as a tone of skepticism fills it. "It looked to me like the two of you were just leaving."

He raises an index finger, on which gleams a polished ring, and he flicks it upwards, somehow causing the two men to slip into attention. Another flick of the finger and they turn to the right; he reaches out, smoothing out his hand, and he moves it to the side, his hand held the way that a puppeteer might hold theirs.

The soldiers follow his movements, marching away, and the man who saved me, his hand comes to rest on my shoulder again, pulling me closely into his body.

"Don't hold it against them," my savior says to me, and I look up at him into the attractive, boyish face of the man who sent the soldiers packing. He has glimmering icy blue eyes, and they twinkle merrily as they meet mine, the look in them promising desire and dancing forms intertwining together under the light of the moon. "They're actually not all that bad."

His voice has, again, taken on that low, husky drawl, and smoldering heat tinges at me, especially where he and I touch.

"Where to?" he continues, lowering his head slightly and turning it so his eyes better meet mine. His breath washes over my face, cool mint scenting it, and I have to hold back the urge to stand on my tip-toes and brush my lips against his.

'What on Earth is happening to me?' I think, examining the smooth contours of his face.

"I'll be your escort this evening," he finishes, and I wonder idly why he is helping me, why he's holding me so tenderly and speaking to me like a man speaks to his lover before the passion-filled night begins.

"Oh, uh, um," I stammer, "just going to the bakery."

"Don't get alarmed," he says, leaning closer still, and as I attempt to lean back, maintain some distance between the two of us so I can keep my head, his hand on my shoulder holds me in place firmly, "but I'm being followed."

He starts to walk, sliding his arm from my shoulders to offer it to me like a true gentleman would. "Act normal," he tells me, and I slide my hand into the crook of his elbow.

We walk together, the sound of our footsteps a smooth, gentle rhythm to the charged silence between the two of us.

I do not know if he feels the same way, that intense attraction pulling me towards him, but it is all that I can think of as we walk down the alley.

It's nerve-wracking to be so close to him; my heart pounds in my chest, thudding against my rib-cage like a sparrow or a hummingbird.

We pass by a faded poster advertising the army, and a few moments after, a black blob of a figure slips out of the wall. More soon follow behind the first, creating a blockade.

I glance at the figures from the corner of my eye as the man leads me along.

"Sorry," he whispers to me, the lower volume simply increasing the seduction in his voice, "looks like you're involved."

I flinch at his words, and when I spot more of the blobs ahead of us, all wearing these white straw hats with a blue ribbon around the brim, I accidentally snuggle closer to him.

At that, he smirked slightly, but by the time I looked up at his face, the expression of triumph had disappeared.

"This way," he says suddenly, turning to stride down an adjoining alleyway as the hands of the blobs reach out to try to capture us in place.

They follow us, charging down the alley, and the man who saved me picks up the pace, beginning to break into a run. But more blobs appear ahead of us, trapping us.

And yet, still, he does not slow. "Hold on," he calls to me, running faster and faster. His arm suddenly wraps around my waist, quicker than an anaconda, and we spring into the air, his free hand grabbing mine as I gasp in surprise.

We leave the figures behind us, staring from the ground.

"Now, straighten your legs and start walking," he says, starting to walk in mid-air. His arm releases my waist, and instead, he grasps my other hand.

Hesitantly, I begin to walk with him, staring at the ground below us, and he laughs gently, the sound a low, dulcet chuckle.

"See?" he asks me. "Not so hard, is it?"

'This is impossible,' I think as I continue to walk through the air.

We start to go down as the town-square comes into view, and he leans closer to me, smiling warmly. "You are a natural," he tells me, his breath again washing over my face, and I cannot help but smile back at him – both from the gentle expression he wears and the amazing sensation of flying.

We pass over the crowded, bustling street, and he lands us both on the balcony of the bakery. For a brief moment, he holds me firmly against himself in a tender embrace, and then he swings me down off of the polished wood railing, allowing me to land gracefully on the wooden floor of the balcony. He releases one of my hands but still holds the other one, almost as if to let go of me entirely would be to lose himself.

"I'll make sure and draw them off," he tells me, his expression still so tender as he regards me, standing there. "But wait a bit before you head back outside."

I can feel my body still thrumming with energy, and I smile slightly at him. "Okay," I murmur, my voice weak.

He slowly pulls his hand back, and he grins gently. "That's my girl," he says, and the possessive tone in his voice leaves me hot and flustered as he jumps back and disappears, falling down to the ground below.

Something within me twinges nervously at the thought of him falling, hurting himself, and I rush over to the railing to peer down. But there is no sign of him, leaving me wondering if it truly happened at all – or if it was just a wonderful dream.

And that's the first chapter. What did you guys think (y'know, if anybody is even reading this)?

I hope that the mature undertones don't cause you to lose interest; I just thought that Howl seemed very seductive, and it sort of fits according to the book the movie is based on. And so there is definitely a mature sort of attraction between the two of them - not that either of them really realize it yet. I mean, they just met and all that.

Well, I've really got to go.

Feel free to offer your opinions on the story, advice on how you think that it should go (but I can't promise I will listen entirely, because I already sort of have a plan for it), and the answer to the following question:

Question: Who is your favorite character in Howl's Moving Castle?

Ja ne!