Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Last Petal Falls
As Christine took her last breath up on the West Wing balcony, the staff, unaware of the tragedy upstairs, were in the middle of a celebration.
They had all gathered on one of the lower terraces to watch as the villagers ran off through the woods.
André's flames were shining bright, buoyed by victory.
Fleurette had fluffed her feathers, and Firmin was ticking and tocking at a much faster rate than usual.
Even the larger pieces of furniture, like La Esmeralda and her lover, Maestro Reyer, had made their way out to celebrate.
André turned to Fleurette and took her in his arms.
The feather duster giggled flirtatiously.
"We did it, Fleurette!" he cried, dipping her.
"Victory is ours!"
He leaned down to kiss her and gasped.
She had grown still and silent in his arms.
She was no longer alive.
With the last petal gone, the curse had taken full effect.
One by one, the once-animate objects grew inanimate.
As André watched in horror, La Esmeralda froze in the middle of a theatrical flourish.
Letting out a shout, Maestro Reyer began to play his keys, frantic to keep them moving.
But there was nothing he could do.
They, too, slowed until, finally, they stopped and the harpsichord became still.
The curse swept through the castle like a wind, and no matter how they tried to escape it, the staff could not get away.
Fifi barked one last time before turning back into a harpsichord bench.
Madame Giry frantically approached André and Firmin, searching for her daughters, but before she could find them, her face disappeared in the painted ornamentation of the teapot.
Elisabeth became still next, her features fading away until she no longer resembled a sweet little girl, and was just an ordinary teacup.
"André..."
Hearing Firmin's voice, the candelabra turned, dreading the inevitable.
The little clock was struggling against the curse, trying his hardest to keep ticking.
"No!" André cried. "Hold on, Firmin!"
"I...can't..." Firmin said, his voice growing weak.
He gave a long, slow tick and an even slower tock.
"André, my friend, it was an honor to serve with you."
André lowered his flames as Firmin's voice faded away completely.
The only sound he made was the ticktock of a small clock.
He was no longer the majordomo.
He was an object.
"The honor was mine, mon ami," the candelabra said gravely.
And as André looked around, he saw that they were all objects now.
No one but him was left.
André knew that up in the West Wing, the last rose petal had fallen.
A moment later, he, too, stiffened and the light faded from his candles as his final transformation took place.
Soon the terrace was quiet except for the ticking of the clock that had once been Firmin.
A soft snow began to fall, covering the objects and making them look like ghosts.
A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-Eight...