*Looks at my gf* wow thats my gf

Who wants to think about how Lumiere saw Plumette lose her sentience but not vice versa and how he probably spent a lot of that first day back just staring at her and grinning and maybe tearing up a little because he keeps thinking “She’s alive, we’re alive, she’s not stiff and lifeless, she’s alive and moving and smiling and she’s got a real face and arms and hair and I get to look at her again and kiss her again if she feels like it oh good lord”

no sir! not me! i guarantee it! i want much more than this provincial life! i want adventure in the great wide somewhere!

so cute im dying

@bongcheol

Can we talk about Cadenza’s love for Garderobe, though?

It was funny when Cogsworth was all like “Maestro, keep it down, we don’t want to alert the master” because it allowed Cadenza to respond with a snarky remark (one that I actually found rather relatable, being a musician myself).  But imagine Cadenza’s internal response to Lumiere’s comment about how Garderobe is upstairs and she’s finding it harder and harder to stay awake, and then Cogsworth’s about playing quietly.

I imagine it was something like how dare you—she and I were separated that night; I haven’t gazed upon her in years and you want me to play quietly?  What do you know of my love for her?

And then later, after the festivities have finished, everyone notices that the maestro’s performances become louder and more beautiful than ever; sometimes fast and frantic, other times slow and full of longing, and it’s so painfully obvious that he misses her, that he wants to hear her sing again.  He inquires after her constantly, asking how she’s doing, is she all right, I wonder if she can hear me

Sometimes he leaves the ballroom in the middle of the night; he’s trying to see if he can find a way up to the East Wing just to listen for her, hear the arias she sometimes makes up to pass the time, even if he only catches fragments, ostinatos, capriccios.  It doesn’t matter what she sings; every time he hears her voice he’s in heaven, the curse is nonexistent, and his urge to play back, to answer her…it’s second nature.

But he can’t reach her just as much as she can’t reach him; the castle has fallen apart over the years, and the only way to the East Wing is across the rooftops, a path that he, in his cursed form, can’t traverse, though he had to be stopped by the servants several times because he tried, he really did, and it breaks his heart to hear that she’s struggling to stay with the world.

But fate—or rather, magic—is not smiling on them, and has not been for these torturous years.  All the maestro can do is try to encourage Belle to fall in love with the prince; for the sooner they fall in love, the sooner the spell would be broken, and he and his dear one would be able to embrace each other once again.