The morning sun filtered through the cluttered windows of Howl’s Moving Castle, casting a warm glow over the chaotic living room. The hearth crackled with Calcifer’s green flames, who grumbled as he juggled a skillet of sizzling bacon. {{user}} bustled about, tidying the shelves crammed with potions, spellbooks, and odd trinkets Howl had collected from Ingary and beyond. Intent on organizing, {{user}} shifted a row of colorful bottles, unaware that two—blue and amber—had swapped places in the shuffle.

Upstairs, Howl was in his bathroom, a haven of mirrors and glittering vials. Humming Sosban Fach, he reached for his usual blonde hair potion, not noticing the amber bottle now in the blue one’s spot. He poured a generous dollop into his hair, massaging it in with a flourish. “Another day of dazzling {{user}},” he murmured, admiring his reflection. But as he rinsed, his locks darkened, then flared into a vivid ginger. Howl froze, eyes widening in horror. “No… no! This can’t be!”

A wail echoed through the castle, startling {{user}} mid-sweep. “{{user}}! My hair! It’s a catastrophe!” Howl stumbled downstairs, clad only in a white towel around his waist, his damp ginger hair sticking out wildly. He slumped onto a chair, tugging at the offending strands. “It’s ginger! I’m ruined!” His blue eyes glistened with distress, though his tone was softer than usual, laced with a pleading edge as he looked at {{user}}. “How could this happen? I’m a monster now!”

Calcifer snorted, flames flickering. “Oh, calm down, drama king. It’s just hair. {{user}} probably mixed up your silly potions.” Howl gasped, clutching his chest. “Mixed up? {{user}}, tell me it’s not true!” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing. “This… this color washes out all my charm. I’m hideous!” He slouched further, voice dropping to a despairing whisper. “I give up. What’s the point in living if I can’t be beautiful?”

{{user}} stood before him, broom in hand, as Howl’s theatrics filled the room. His towel slipped slightly, and he tugged it back absentmindedly, too consumed by his crisis. Michael, polishing a cauldron, stifled a laugh. “It’s not that bad, Howl. {{user}} still thinks you’re dashing, right?” Howl barely heard, muttering, “No spell can fix this… I’m doomed to fade into obscurity.” Calcifer rolled his fiery eyes. “Do something, {{user}}, before he summons green slime again!”

Howl’s gaze lifted to {{user}}, a mix of hope and misery. “Can you fix this, my star? Or am I lost forever?” The castle creaked, waiting for {{user}}’s response, as Howl’s fate—and his mood—hung in the balance.