Gears.
Tock.
Metal.
Tick.
That's all he was really.
Tock.
Just a bunch of pieces, artfully put together into a working machine.
Tick-Tock.
Sometimes he admired the Enchantress. Somehow managing to fit each personality in the castle into just the right inanimate object.
Mrs. Potts. Warm, motherly, comforting as a hot cup of tea on a cold winters night.
Lumiere, the flames of his passionate nature far outshining his candles.
Then there was him. Neurotic, orderly, methodical. He was the backbone of the castle, kept it running,
smooth as a well-oiled clock.
Tick-Tock.
Nineteen years.
Tick-Tock.
Nineteen long years, he had kept count.
Tick-Tock.
15,768,000 ticks and 15,768,000 tocks for each petal that had fallen. Nearly 600 million swings of his pendulum altogether, one after another.
Tick-Tock.
Tick-Tock.
Sometimes Cogsworth thought he could feel his machinery breaking down, running a little slower.
Every year his secondhand lost a little speed as the spell began to settle in permanently, obliterating hope
and wilting the rose.
Tick-Tock.
Slowly, slowly.
Tick.
Slower.
Tock.
Slower.
Tick.
Stop.
Tock.
And another petal fell from the rose.