On the first day, there was mystery

On the second day, there was attraction

On the third day, there was scandal

On the fourth day, there was doubt

On the fifth day, there were confessions

On the sixth day, the heartless loved

And on the seventh day…

There was simply another day.

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Here's to the epilogue of the days of our lives.

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Dear Sophie Hatter,

Please excuse my directness, but I've finally succumbed to the gnawing feeling inside me imploring to be let out and spoken to you in the form of this humble letter.

Sophie—you're probably about to explode at me again for the flowery language above. Sorry, I could not help it—just ignore it, then.

Actually, I'm writing to you because I thought it was a nice way to get in touch. You haven't seen or heard from me for a while, but I'm still thinking of you at the oddest moments. Strange, isn't it? Yes, you may laugh now.

The King contacted me a few weeks ago. He's always had his eye on me ever since I made seven league boots for one of his better known office generals who happened to show up in front of me and beg for a war device to spy on Ingary's neighbors. It's not natural for a grown man to beg, so I hastily magicked his pair of black (and impossibly unfashionable) military boots.

I'm too much of a softie with a heart.

Now I'm really doomed. The king has half of his air ships looking for the more mobile of my many homes (the moving castle; surely you've heard of it--where you live and all taken to mind). Now he might force me to become respectable and work for the government. It's bringing in surprising merits for me, as I've been able to buy a few more suits lately. And I don't want to hear you protesting about vanity, Ms. Practical-Gray-Dress (but soon to become Mrs. Jenkins). It's a touchy topic for me--my looks, that is. Uhh...

Speaking of the capital, when I was in Kingsbury, I attended a really rather grand wedding (more like, I looked on from some nearby location). I believe it was your stepmother's, since I saw you in the bridesmaids' line. It made my heart do something that I believe is close to fluttering (it's been doing that recently. Is this healthy for normal humans?). I'm sorry for not paying my regards that day, but I believed you had enough excitement for that day.

Maybe I'm just a breaker of hearts that, nevertheless, helped the young women around towns and cities and countryside grow after they've had they experienced lost love. I hear the bad things in life are good fertilizer to grow. I've never been much into gardening, to be truthful, but the person who told me wasn't a gardener—so I guess it's okay.

Wait for me for one more day,

Howl Jenkins

P.S. The cake your stepfather bought for the wedding wasn't that impressive.
We can beat that at our wedding, right, Sophie?

P.S.S. If you happen to recieve a large parcel containing a scrumptious white dress shortly after this note, please refrain from giving it to anyone out of your goodheartedness. It's for you. And it can only be from me, with my good taste in attire and ready income with the King whispering about a royal wizard in my ear and all nowadays. Blast.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, or in person. I really get this horribly nauseating fluttering in this heart of mine as soon as I tried to tell you straight out my intentions!

P.S.S.S. Maybe I should mail these instead of sending them by transport spells. The respectable folk in Market Chipping are twittering, and I still want them at the wedding reception.

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Author's Last Note:

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Suzu: That's a wrap.

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Note: There are thoughts about a sequel, titled 'Seven Nights'. If you thought seven days were hard to get through, Sophie is going to have trouble dealing with the seven nights. It will include more on the Moving Castle... possibly with a Calicifer, Markyl... and such.

Although this idea is still premature, there might be a chance to write it in the future.

But that's a thought for another day.

Thank you all sincerely, and I hope you all leave your last comments/questions/concerns.

Give it up to the happy couple.