Jean-Paul was getting used to being a dish.

The first night had certainly not been very pleasant, and neither were the subsequent years to follow, but given enough time, anything at all can become so routine as to be perfectly and totally dull. This sort of rendering of the fantastic into something mundane was a particular talent of Mr. Cogsworth, and one he would certainly have particularly prided himself on, had he known himself to possess it.

The first morning after the casting of the curse, Mr. Cogsworth gathered them all together in the great hall. It was quite a sight, to see feather dusters swaying about on gowns of lovely plumage and cumbersome wardrobes lumbering about as the little teacups scurried beneath them, herded along by a stern and loving teapot hopping along beside them. They were all conversing amongst themselves, and every conversation had the same cadence of fear, disbelief, and ardent curiosity. The murmurs of the animate objects echoed through the cavernous hall.

"Settle down, everyone, settle, settle down!" said Mr. Cogsworth. He had climbed up on top of a friendly tea trolley in order to address the crowd, as he had recently become a mantle clock.

"Mr. Cogsworth looks quite a bit shorter than usual," whispered Old Jaques, "but not by much."

The other dishes, except for Jean-Paul and Frederique, gave a hearty chuckle.

"I bet this is somehow his fault," said Louise. "After all, he's supposed to be in charge of things. Rather careless of him, to let something like this go and happen!"

"I do believe you're right, Louise!" said Young Jaques. "I say, I'd like an explanation for all this!" he cried.

"If you'll all settle down for a moment," said Mr. Cogsworth, "I'm sure this whole mess can be properly explained - er, excuse me -"

"Yes, yes!" said Claudette. "I'd like an explanation, too!"

The cries became louder and more numerous, and they were all addressed to Mr. Cogsworth. "If you'll only, for a moment -" he was saying, growing flustered and very much put out.

Suddenly, one of the candlesticks whistled loudly in a way that would have used two of his fingers if he had still had them, but instead used the edge of one of the arms of a candelabrum, which rendered the whole thing into an action that is considerably harder to describe. All the same, it made the great hall fall silent at last.

The whistling candlestick was none other than Monsieur Lumiere, who had somehow made his way onto the tea trolley next to Mr. Cogsworth when no one was looking (which was quite an impressive feat, as no one could remember having looked away.)

"Now now, everyone!" said M. Lumiere. "Let us not lose our heads!"

"Hear, hear!" cried another candlestick, struggling to keep his mishappen, waxen face from falling off of his candelabrum.

"Cogsworth and myself are here to answer any and all of your questions! Listen first, if you please!"

"Hmm. Yes," muttered Mr. Cogsworth. He cleared his throat with a few polite ahems, then addressed his audience. "I am certainly here to answer any and all of your questions," he said, with a sidelong glare at M. Lumiere. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, let's see -"

"Where's the Master?" squeaked a fork.

"Pipe down!" snapped Mr. Cogsworth.

"But I can't see from down there!" whined a calabash pipe from up on the shelf.

"Not you!" said Mr. Cogsworth. "The fork!"

"But I already am down!" said the fork.

"Don't give me that cheek!" said Mr. Cogsworth.

"But I haven't got cheeks anymore!" wailed the fork. "Oh, dear, where have my lovely cheeks gone?"

"Well, I can explain it all to you very simply if you pipe do - I mean, if you remain silent and don't interrupt," he said, with a courteous nod to the pipe on the shelf.

The fork sniffled miserably, and Mr. Cogsworth went on, clearing his throat a few more times for good measure.

"The Master is currently in his quarters in the West Wing, where he is not to be disturbed."

A disquieting murmur rippled across the hall, though it dared not stay for long should it again incur the wrath of the chubby little mantle clock.

"Through no fault of his own, he was tricked by an unscrupulous enchantress, and placed under her curse, along with the entirety of his household."

"That's not fair!" said a little teacup. "Why should we all be punished?"

"Now, Chip," said the teapot in a voice that was both reproachful and gentle. "Don't interrupt. We all have to wait our turn."

"Yes, Mama," said the teacup.

Mr. Cogsworth went on. "Now, while I am no expert in the matter of curses, I do know that it is entirely reversible, and you needn't concern yourselves with remaining in our, um, present state forever."

There came another wave of murmurs, this time hopeful, though they receded just as quickly.

"The spell can be very easily broken, you see. The matter can be quickly and quietly resolved with a simple exchange of personal feelings of a sentimental sort, of course, by which I mean-"

"The Master has got to get a girl to fall in love with him, and fall in love with her in return!" said M. Lumiere. "With that, the spell shall be broken!"

"That's it! We're doomed!" cried a feather duster.

Jean-Paul could not help but agree with the feather duster. And indeed, despite the assurances that they would be human again in no time, it was soon apparent to the entire household that the Master had already given up all hope of ever getting a girl to love him.

In the meantime, however, Jean-Paul lived in an enchanted castle, and even though it was really a great deal duller than he would have expected, he thoroughly intended to make the most of it.