Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nox grew up knowing some men could steal and never face the weight of consequence. The country might have abolished slavery, but that didn’t stop it from exporting goods to places where chains were still legal, nor did it stop the grinding wheels of child labor.

The church droned on about thou shalt not steal, but prayers never filled Nox’s stomach. From what he saw, no one clothed themselves in humility. The aristocrats parading through the streets wore only finery, their wives glittering beside them. These were the men praised as pillars of the community, even as they left that same community in perpetual debt. They were buried with the highest honor, and God forbid anyone whisper a wish of hell upon them.

Nox knew their kind. He knew the men who struck him with canes, simply because they could. The men who spat on him. The men who accused him of theft—sometimes right, sometimes wrong—just to make him run, just to savor the chase, as though he were the fox and the gentlemen hunters,unleashing their hounds on him.

He was thirsty—always thirsty. The water wasn’t clean, just as his hands were never clean, in both the literal and the unspoken sense. Sometimes, passing the tea houses, he saw men sipping Earl Grey, their porcelain cups steaming in the lamplight, and he wondered what it must taste like.
Flowers were rare in his streets. Stars are rarer still, smothered by the smog. How cruel, he thought, to be denied even the night.
He was white.
He was an Englishman.
He had no title.
He was likely a bastard.

That was all the world cared to know of him.

London had no mercy for the children of its gutters. He learned hunger first, cruelty second, and cold third. The smoke of the factories clung to his lungs, the mud of the streets to his bare feet. Men struck him for sport. Women turned their faces away. Even other urchins would trade loyalty for a scrap of bread.

There was no light left for boys like him. The lamps burned for the rich, the stars were smothered in soot. He stole to live, and lived only to steal again.

So he stole more than food. He stole a name. He pulled it from the blackness that wrapped him each night, a name sharp enough to cut back at the world that had spit him out.
Nox.
“My name is Nox, and it is a pleasure to meet you, little Silver,” Nox said, bowing low into a careful curtsy, just as Violet had drilled into him.
Silver was no taller than a teacup, her body fashioned from delicate silver metal. She was not human—neither she nor Violet ever pretended to be—but she was still a person, and Nox addressed her as such.
Though no blush could warm her polished face, Silver dipped into a dainty curtsy of her own.

“Where am I?” Little Silver wondered as she blinked her way back into wakefulness.
“Ah — tiny woman.” A young voice hurried; before she could steady herself, Silver felt herself falling. Strong hands caught her and set her gently on a high shelf.
“I am so sorry I dropped you. For real.” The voice, nervous and boyish, hurried on as Silver brushed dust from her metal form.
“Oh that’s quite all right,” Silver replied, then peered down at the human. “Are you all right? You’re sweating a lot.”
“No, I’m fine. This is a super normal amount of sweat,” the boy answered, trying to sound casual.
“Oh. I’m sorry — I used your narration. Evidently I was cracked?”
“Um… yeah. You were. How did that happen?”
“I do not know. Have you been using me at all?”
“A little,” he admitted. “I needed at least half a vial to fix myself so I could turn into this—er—more conversational form. I just wish I knew how I got cracked in the first place. My name is Little Silver, and I am the heroine key.” She dipped into a tiny curtsy.
“I’m Chase… the, uh, human,” the boy said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I found your key inside a book at the local library.”
“Ex Libris?” Silver asked, puzzled. “Are you a member of Ex Libris?”
“Ex what now?” Chase blinked. “I don’t know what that is. I just—found you in a book.”
Silver’s tiny face went still. “Ex Libris is my creator — like all the other keys. Do you know where the other keys are?”
“No.” Chase’s voice softened. “But I do know one. A purple one. The… villainess.” He trailed off.
“Yes! Violet is my sister.” Silver brightened. “Is she all right?”
“She’s…kind of in the hands of this guy. I call him ‘Buddy.’ I don’t know his real name.” Chase’s brow furrowed. “He seems to know a lot about you folks.”
“Perhaps he works for Ex Libris?” Silver offered, hopeful.
“He can appear in any book I go into without using the book itself. Can Ex Libris do that?”
Silver hesitated. “I… that should not be possible. But the Order of Ex Libris had many spells and secrets we did not know about. Perhaps they did create a way.”
“He said ‘we’ once when he spoke about the key,” Chase told her. “And he really wanted to get you back. Really badly.”

Chase’s kindness surprised Silver. He wore strange clothes with names she didn’t know, but his golden-brown eyes were gentle. He told her, haltingly, about his wish — that he wanted to cure his mother’s cancer. Somewhere, out of sight of human eyes, someone else listened: a boy, another key, quietly conversing in a library corner.

“That little idiot chose the Grimm version of Cinderella,” Nox said to Violet, voice low and dry, “but he changed the story. He stopped the stepsisters from getting their eyes pecked out by birds — for reasons I don’t know. The fairytale people rarely care for such details.” Nox sighed. “However, he should have collected enough narration to fix the crack in Silver.”
“If Silver is fixed, that is good,” Violet replied. “And if the human is such a fool — as you say — getting her back should be easy. I want my sister returned. The human she’s with now was merely a means to an end to fix her crack.”
“I want her back too,” Nox said quietly. “But the human isn’t going to let her go without a fight. He thinks… he thinks fairytale characters are people. Maybe he thinks the same for keys.” Violet laughed, a metallic chime.
“That would be the day,” she said.

Chapter Text

Silver had the boy parading in soft pinks, roses stitched into the hems, lace that made Nox sneer. Gaudy. Pointless. Useless frills for a useless cause.

And yet—damn it all—the colors suited him. The blush tones warmed Chase’s sun-kissed skin, and his blond hair caught the light, almost golden, almost alive.Nox clenched his jaw. What madness was this—to feel this? To feel his heart stumble over the boy dressed in Silver’s fashion, when every ruffle Violet had chosen for him, every ribbon she’d tied with trembling fingers, was meant to remind him: bring my sister back.
Nox removed the thorns Violet had woven into his outfit. And for what?
For a boy dressed in Silver’s fashion.
. For the boy who praised Silver—and praised him too. How could his heart beat for someone like that?
He remembered the fashions of his time—white gloves delicately covering ladies’ hands, the kind a man longed to slip off. Ankles, occasionally revealed, were scandal enough. Skin was a luxury, a whisper of rebellion.
Nox, in the stories, had human flesh again. He showed skin freely, boldly. But outside the tales, he didn’t. And yet, he felt those golden-brown eyes watching him.
Eyes like steeped Earl Grey—warm, smoky, impossible to ignore. Nox wanted to drown in them, lose himself in every shade of grey that curled like steam in a winter-lit room.
The kiss was desperation spun into softness, Nox clutching Chase like the world would end if their lips parted. If he let go, those eyes he adored might dim forever.
Nox wept, never knowing he’d fall for Silver’s new keyholder, or that a single kiss would leave him adrift in the curve of those lips.