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Adam slipped into the parlor, easing the door shut behind him. After years of approaching everything with as much delicacy as he could, of being eight feet tall with paws the size of dinner plates, he often forgot how effortless it was to be quiet. To be... human, again.
Lira was sitting in the center of the rug, with a blanket tucked tight across her shoulders. Babette and Cogsworth had chased her into the forest mere hours ago (Lumiere, God bless him, slept like a corpse throughout the entire ordeal). The noise had woken him, and though he had assured Belle it was nothing, Adam had lurked around the foyer until they returned. And then he lurked outside the parlor, unable to help but unable to leave.
One of Lira's tall, furred ears twitched. Adam's heavy breaths caught in his throat. The parlor was silent, save for the crackling of the fire and Cogsworth's faint snoring where he had fallen asleep on the chaise.
"You can come in, Adam. I don't bite, you know."
He winced. "Sorry..." He crept around the chaise to sit at her side. "How did you know it was me?"
She chuckled, "I know what Babette's perfume smells like."
He would've been embarrassed, but he could only stare at her long canines when she spoke. "Does it bother you?"
"Does what bother me?"
"Being like... like this."
"You can call me a werewolf, hon. I don't mind."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded, her smile soft and almost maternal. "People will think and say all manner of things, but 'werewolf' isn't an insult. It's just what I am."
It's just what I am
. A beast. He stared into the fire, the dancing light blurring his vision. Ten years had been a death sentence for him, but there had been an antidote, a small persistent chance to be human again. How long had Lira been this way? She was near twice his age; What suffering must she have lived with every day?
"Do you ever wish there was a cure?" The words came out before he could think better of it.
One of her ears twitched. Her eyes drifted to her lap, where her hands remained overgrown, coated in pale brown fur, and tipped with black claws. One had broken during her transformation; She could not remember how or when.
Cogsworth's hand slipped off the chaise, brushing against her shoulder. She softened and nuzzled her cheek against his arm. "I do... Sometimes. I had to abandon my family. I lost a dear friend. But other times, I remind myself that if I had never been cursed, I wouldn't be here.
"I'm happy, even with everything that's happened, and I think that's enough." She laughed suddenly. "Hell, I have a family that is willing to run into the woods in the dead of night for me! I wouldn't trade that for the world, forget being human."
Before Adam could speak, Babette bumped the door open with her hip. "I made hot chocolate— Oh!" She curtseyed. "Your highness."
He awkwardly looked away as Babette passed out the mugs. Lira offered a corner of the blanket, and they cocooned themselves together. Adam scarcely heard their hushed giggles at Cogsworth's expense.
No, his thoughts were far away. Lira's words clung to the back of his mind like spiderwebs. Would he have sacrificed his one hope, his humanity, even if he was happy? The longer he thought, the more certain he was.
He loved Belle. He loved the staff like family, even Lira, though he had only known her for a few months. And that was more than enough.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"For God's sake, how many times do I have to tell you it's the B piece not the E piece!"
They had been at this for about an hour and had only managed to put the screws in the table legs, never mind attaching them to the table itself. Belle and Adam had already finished two; She had the experience from helping her father after all. Chapeau had walked out on them in the first five minutes, and Cogsworth was starting to regret not following him.
Lumiere groaned. "Well excuse me, but I don't know what else you expect from me with that horrible accent of yours!"
"My accent is not the bloody problem, and you know it!"
Mrs. Potts glared at them both. "Language."
"With all due respect, Madame, there are much more vulgar things I would rather call this imbecile—"
Babette snatched the instructions out of his hands. "Give me that. We're going to be here all day at this rate."
"Like you'll do any better," Cogsworth hissed. She flipped him off over her shoulder.
"Alright, new plan. Cogsworth, focus on organizing the pieces by what they're for; It's a mess in here. Mrs. Potts will read the instructions while Lumiere and I put everything together. Are we all in agreement?"
Nods passed around the circle, but when they were finally ready to get back to work, they found Sultan curled up asleep on the table surface. Lumiere groaned. Babette threw the pamphlet onto the floor in frustration. Cogsworth swore, and even Mrs. Potts didn't have enough patience left to scold him for it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Belle paced in front of the fireplace, hands clasped behind her back. Lumiere and Cogsworth exchanged nervous glances. Whatever was on her mind, there was no doubt that they'd be dragged into it.
She sighed through her nose. "Adam isn't coming to Christmas at my father's house— And I don't blame him! I understand that this time of year is hard for him, but my aunties already know I'm seeing someone, so I can't just show up alone."
"Well then, the answer is obvious!" Lumiere chimed in. "We simply dress someone up as Adam, and they would never know the difference!"
Cogsworth raised an eyebrow at him. "And who do you propose we send? You and I are both too old—"
"Hey!"
"Chapeau and Crane both don't talk, Fife would give himself a heart attack, Pierre would be a horrible first impression, am I missing anyone?"
"Hm, we could dress Babette as a man."
Before Cogsworth could make another sarcastic retort, Belle's eyes widened. "That... might actually work."
The days seemed to drag with anticipation, but when Christmas finally arrived, the ladies spent all morning getting ready. Babette borrowed a pair of Lumiere's trousers, though his shirt would sooner fit a coat rack than her. Instead, she tucked Adam's shirt into her pants and drew a small mustache with eyeliner. She turned from the mirror with a flourish.
"What do we think?"
Belle bit back a laugh. "You look like a combination of Cogsworth and Lumiere."
Babette laughed with her. "I'm going to pretend that's a compliment!"
"Thank you so much for this, Babette. Really."
"It's no trouble at all, mademoiselle."
Their ruse was worth it just to see the bewildered expression on Maurice's face when Belle introduced "Adam" to the family. One aunt made a remark about Babette's shirt looking a size too large; "Well, Madame, this style is all the rage in Paris, you know." The conversation spiraled then. Babette regaled the humble, woodsy family with (mostly exaggerated) stories about Paris and Versailles and royal galas and shining palaces. The hours flew in minutes, and suddenly, the aunts and uncles had bustled home, leaving only Belle and Babette and a very confused Maurice.
Light snow had begun to fall as they walked back to the carriage. Belle kissed her father goodbye, with a promise to tell him the whole story another night.
When they returned to the castle—a few hours later than they had planned—Belle was exhausted, and Babette was more than a little tipsy. They giggled at nothing, arm in arm as they trudged through the dark castle halls.
They stopped at the base of the stairs, and Belle yawned. "Well, I'm going straight to bed. You can bring Adam's shirt back in the morning; I'm not worried about it."
Babette raised her hand to her lips with a wink. "I bid you goodnight, mon amour."
And they erupted into giggles again.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Tell us about him!"
"Tell us everything!"
Lumiere laughed as his little sisters, each pulling one of his sleeves, dragged him to a seat. Lainie immediately scrambled up onto the sofa with him and wiggled as close to his side as she could get.
"Come on! Come on! Come on!"
"Okay, okay!" As his laughter died down, he finally asked them, "What do you want to know?"
Her voice soft as ever, Lily spoke up, "Is he nice?"
"Of course, ma coccinelles, he is very nice. I think you'd get along with him especially." He poked her nose for emphasis, and she giggled.
"But what do you like about him?" Lainie chimed in. "Is he handsome?"
He laughed again, "Yes, ma fee, he is handsome."
"Come on, you have to tell us more than that!"
"Well, ah..." Lumiere tugged at his cravat. "He has a very cute smile."
Lorena gasped, running in from the next room. Her slippers slid on the polished floor, and she gripped the back of the sofa to keep herself from falling. "We know him, don't we!"
"What? No!"
Lainie's eyes lit up. "Who is it?"
"No one!"
"You're blushing," Fiammetta commented, never looking up from her book.
"I am not!"
Lorena hung off the back of the couch, resting her chin atop his head. "Tell ussssss—"
"I refuse!"
She pouted. "Oh fine, but at least give us a hint. Pretty please? You said you'd tell us!"
He crossed his arms. "I said I'd tell the little ones, not you."
She flicked his curlicue bangs, sending a few loose strands into his eyes and mouth. "You're no fun."
"Leave it, Lorena."
"Just one thing?"
"No."
"Okay, what about yes or no?"
"Ugh, fine!"
She sat on the arm of the sofa now, draping an arm across his shoulders. "Who flirted first?"
"That's not a yes-or-no question."
Lorena rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay. Is he anything like your last partner?"
"Oh no, not at all."
"Do you have anything in common then? Music perhaps?"
"He likes music, but he doesn't play."
She smirked. "Have you known him all that long?"
Lumiere squirmed. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he answered, "Yes. Yes I have."
Fiammetta smiled behind the pages of her book. Her little brother was never subtle about his crushes, but ah well. It wasn't her place to say.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It had been Belle's idea. Something her family used to do when the roads were buried under snow and the award money never came.
In the castle, though, it was simply convenient. Belle had gathered everyone in the ballroom, which was still a mess in preparation for their usual, ostentatious Christmas gala. The tree sat empty, and the floor was littered with loose pine needles and golden glitter. Dusty boxes of ornaments and candles were piled anywhere there was room, in some method of "organization" that only made sense to Angelique. Belle made a seat for herself atop an old cedar trunk, sending another puff of dust onto the once-polished floor. She barely suppressed a giggle at the way Cogsworth's nose scrunched up.
The names were shuffled in an empty box for the garland, scraps of tinsel and evergreen tossed with them. Everyone walked out with a folded scrap of paper and the promise that someone had theirs in turn.
Everyone except Fife.
He hadn't come to the ballroom. In fact, Madame de Garderobe could not recall the last time she saw the boy at all.
"We should do something for him."
Her husband glanced up to her with a blink, as if he hadn't seen her at all. His pen had stilled so abruptly that a blot of ink bled into the page. A soft smile graced her face. "Apologies, mi amore, I did not mean to interrupt you."
In an instant, and for no discernable reason, Cadenza suddenly noticed the growing dot of ink beneath his hand. He frantically tried to smudge it out with his thumb, which only made the mess worse. His face fell into his hands. "Yes, mi stella?"
Garderobe pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket to dry the black stain now on his cheek. With a cheeky grin, she whispered, "My sincerest apologies for disrupting a genius at work."
He crumpled up the paper with a huff. "Nonsense, all I've written is nonsense!"
"I'm sure that's not true."
"How am I supposed to appeal to the prince? He has been famously been difficult all his life, and if that wasn't challenging enough, now he's a different man entirely!"
"And I'm certain the most talented composer in all of Europe can make something perfect for him."
Cadenza tossed the paper ball into a corner, the newest addition to a white, crinkly mountain of ideas that would certainly be brilliant to anyone else. But not Cadenza. Temperamental, perfectionist Cadenza with too many ideas and too little patience.
Garderobe chuckled more as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Now that I have your attention, I have a little request. The little flautist, we should do something for him."
"Mi amore, we barely know him!"
"But we do!" she insisted brightly. "We share an art, darling; that is more than enough!"
Cadenza shook his head. "Oh, if you insist."
So their search began. Cadenza asked as much of the staff as he could, but not even Lumiere knew a thing about the boy.
"He is— Well, you know, he keeps to himself."
"He rarely spoke to anyone but the Maestro. Quite flighty, as it were."
"He's an odd little tyke. I've tried talking to him some, but he always avoids us."
None of it sat well with the diva. Especially when she knew—or rather, had known—Maestro Forte many years ago. He had always been a bitter, reclusive man, and she could not bear to see sweet Fife become the same.
It didn't matter that she didn't know him. Madame de Garderobe had never been the type for small things. On the stage and in her behind-the-scenes life, she would love with her whole heart, sing until her throat was raw, throw herself into anything if passion swayed her so.
And suddenly, she knew what to do.
"Mi amore, what was the name of that carpenter in Villeneuve?"
"Firmin, I believe."
"Thank you, dear!"
Cadenza shook his head as she disappeared out the door, her thick skirts following a few seconds later. There was no use arguing with his wife when she set her mind to something, but that was also one of the things he loved about her.
She poked her head back into the room. "And the seamstress?"
"I don't know," he chuckled. "Why don't you ask Belle?"
"That's brilliant! Thank you, love!"
She was gone again before he could answer, and thus Cadenza remained tucked away with only his harpsichord as company. Hours slipped between the keys as he wrote and rewrote and wrote and rewrote... His hands seemed to move on their own as his mind followed the road through the forest, all but invisible beneath the snow. He thought of Garderobe in Villeneuve, shining like a Christmas star in all her jewels and silks and beauty. And above all else... her joy.
Cadenza looked back to his sheet music with a smile. He had nothing to worry about. Tomorrow, the gifts would be exchanged, and there would be laughter in the ballroom, and none of his stresses mattered because there would be joy.