Shape of Water

Chapter One

Hey! Wow, it's been so so long since I updated... Gosh! Life has been hectic and I haven't had much time to myself. But hey that's how life gets sometimes. We just have to role with it.
I'm not sure when I'm going to update again. I'm pretty irregular with it in general for all my fanfictions. Though, be sure I haven't forgotten you or this story!

This chapter roles all the way back to Day One of this story when it all began. I built this story backwards writing the ending first before the beginning. That is why the prologue is the way it is.
The events of Hellboy 2 are quick, happening over a few days. But my story stretches over 11 months. I don't think Nuada will be prepared how one person can change everything. He sure wasn't in the prologue ;3

So now ENJOY!!

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Where it all began

She ran like her very life depended on it. And it did. Always did. From the day she was taken as a child.

She was starved, bony, and beaten and had not felt the sun upon her skin in so long. She weaved in and out of the midnight troll market crowds in panic. Desperate to get away from the slavers who'd abused her so extensively. How she'd managed to escape still was a question upon her mind.

She skidded round a sharp corner with a stumble but managed to find her feet. She cared not about the trolls or the residents of the market she shoved aside. Her life was on the line and she DID NOT want to die. She'd come too close more than she cared to count.

Her lungs burned and her weak legs struggled to keep her going. But she forced herself onward refusing to be the property of another fallen elf and his corrupt siren brothels.

Turning another corner she doubled back down an alley, using the crowds as her cover. She found a large cluster of crates and hid in them. She buried herself in the muck of rotten wood, rope and other things to cover any trace of her. And she stayed there in fear despite the deep wounds bleeding her rags rosy.

SOME HOURS LATER

An old dryad merchant, green hair grey in places, stepped out the back of his linen store that early morning. He had a delivery he'd been anxious for and hoped it had arrived. In his hand was an oil lamp that bathed his faintly scarred features in golden light.

Just last spring he'd purchased several rolls of fine silk. The elven market across the sea was well known for its lavish produce of all kinds and more so silk. Velvet, charcoal, gold, forest and pastel. All for the elven prince who'd been his loyal customer for these last 7 centuries.

However, what he found was not linen. He frowned at the sticky substance beneath his boots. It shimmered slightly in the lamplight. He bent to inspect the odd wetness, warily touching it with two fingers. And the moment he brought it up to the lamp, he was horrified and alert. Blood. A few hours old....and lots of it.

He straightened and whispered an ancient spell in his people's tongue, his green eyes dilating with shining earthen magic. And what he saw unsettled him deeply. His stomach dropped to the floor as his magic showed the blood trail that led into the rotten crates. He warily stepped closer and there amongst the muck was a bony, pale hand. And his heart leapt with fright.

The old merchant slowly lowered the lantern, casting light further down over the area. His breath caught. There, buried beneath discarded ropes and other unrecognisable rubbish was a very thin form. It was covered in wounds deep and shallow alike and wore rags that scarcely covered the body decently.

Whispering a second spell, the faint and laboured sound of a heartbeat filled his pointed ears. His relief was short-lived when the magic highlighted the extension of the wounds. His lips formed an angered, loathing line and his knuckles turned white around the lantern's handle. It was a woman, young and of elven blood.