It took three days for the curse to take over.
At first, the castle remained exactly the same. All the servants breathed sighs of relief, and the Master felt confident that the old hag really had been a raving lunatic. Little ailments that popped up here and there among the staff, but those were not so out of place in everyday life. Madame de Garderobe's knees became stiff, as they did in wet weather, and she found it difficult to climb up and down the great staircases. Chip caught a chill, and stayed in bed to fend off a fever. Cogsworth spent more time daydreaming than shouting orders to the staff. All of these things easily slipped the Masters notice, and he slept peacefully in his lavish bedchamber.
On the second day, Mrs. Potts was the one who brought the Master his breakfast. "Lumiere is ill," she informed the Master. "After breakfast you must call a physician."
The Master, not accustomed to taking orders from a servant, even one he liked as much as Mrs. Potts, demanded that he see Lumiere first. As she led him through the castles dark corridors, he had to shake his head to dispel the feeling that all of the shadows had deepened, and the castle walls were taller and colder than ever before. Mrs. Potts stopped in front of a wooden door, knocked, and silently led the Master in to behold his valet. Surely Lumiere could not have always been so thin? As the servant struggled to sit up in bed for the prince, the Master saw through his nightshirt the protruding bones of his ribcage. More disturbing still was the yellow hue of his skin and nails. "Gangrene, perhaps." Mrs. Potts said in a low voice to the Master. "Please, he needs help."
The Master nodded and sent Mrs. Potts to call a physician. He hurried from the small bedroom, and stalked toward his library, hoping the familiar books would soothe the uncomfortable twist he felt in his chest. As he threw open the large doors, dusty air whooshed around him and filled his lungs, making him cough violently. Plumette must have been here, disturbing the dust. He absently trailed his fingers over the spines of leather bound tombs, and frowned as his breath formed clouds in the air. The sudden chill, the strange sicknesses… surely these were common at the change of seasons. The Master yanked a random book off the shelf, turned to march towards a sofa, and nearly stumbled across Plumette, sprawled across the floor. At his yelp of surprise, she raised her head to stare at him through glassy eyes, then collapsed once more. The twist in his chest grew hard, and black dread clawed into the Masters heart has he lifted Plumette from the ground. Her lips her blue, and she felt light as a feather. After depositing her next to Lumiere, he settled back in the library and tried to read, though more often he stared into the fire place and willed its cold light to warm him.
The next morning, the Master woke to a quiet house. He laid in bed, trying to hear the familiar sounds of quiet footsteps, hushed laughter, rattling china, and cheerful birdsong. There was nothing. Panicked, he threw on a cloak and went searching for a sign of life.
Downstairs, he found Madame de Garderobe weeping that she and her husband's legs had grown so stiff that neither could move beyond the confines of their rooms, trapping them on separate levels of the castle.
He found Lumiere and Plumette holding hands as they both seemed to shrink before his eyes.
He found Cogsworth wandering the garden, muttering nonsense to himself.
Finally, he found Mrs. Potts gently rocking her son as fever ravaged his tiny body. The Master stood at her door, horrified as tears coursed down her weathered cheeks even as she soothed Chip. A sudden needle of pain stabbed him in the chest, and he let out a grunt of pain. Mrs. Potts turned at the sound, and waved the Master over to her side. "There was a sudden squall, and the Physician couldn't get through the pass," she whispered through silvery tears. "He will try, I'm sure, tomorrow, but I fear by then it will be too late." She stroked Chips hair off of his sweaty forehead, and the Master saw his eyes rolling behind thin, purple eyelids. "What is happening to us?" she whispered, more to herself than to the Master.
He ran from the room. He ran from the castle. He ran to escape the cloud of darkness that filled his home, so different from the one that had settled there after his mother's death. That one at least he could hold at bay through decadence. But this was different, and he did not know how to fight it. He could only run.
A full moon peeked above the pine boughs when the Master, exhausted now, turned to stumble back to his bed. He had reached the edge of his rose garden when pain seared his entire body. He slumped to the ground, screaming as limbs turned to fire. Everything burned. He felt his joints sizzle and pop as his bones thickened and stretched, bruising his skin from the inside. His muscles layered on top of one another, erratically contracting and crushing him beneath their weight. He felt two prongs curl out of his skull, his teeth rearrange in his mouth, and nails pull his fingers to form claws. Coarse hair forced its way through his skin, growing despite the scabs they created.
And the Master wept. He wept for his own transformed appearance, and the suffering of his only friends in the world. He felt himself suffocate, knowing this was his fault alone. Just as he felt the guilt choke out his life, something cold crept into his mind. Something unafraid and uncaring, whose dark, animal fingers curled around his own fear and lifted the guilt from him, allowing him to breath once more. In his mind, The Master felt this new presence, felt its strength, and how it quickened at the sound of the distant wolves. He knew that this was his choice now. Keep his own mind and live under the weight of guilt and sorrow, or become an animal and live by instinct alone. No longer crying, the Master embraced this new conscious, and abandoned all of the sorrow and love that had made him human.