Author's note: I used yuuba's list for 100xgruvia challenge and random number generator to pick three words and write little something around them. The generator picked prince, married and kids - but I didn't want to write anything too obvious. So it's twisted a bit.

It's set before Juvia joined Phantom Lord - she might be 13-14 here, I think.

Pretty Lies and Hidden Truths

She knew the stones were slippery; they must have been in this constant downpour. She knew that all too well, so why did she end up like that, fallen down to the rubble at the bottom of a small cavern? She looked up – starless night; she couldn't even see the surface of the rocks she would have to use to climb up. How was she supposed to get out of here?

Juvia cursed inwardly. It had been two days since she escaped from the orphanage. She didn't even know if they looked for her – no-one would miss her, that's for sure, but probably they would be obliged to at least act like they wanted to find her. She didn't think she had left any trails though – when she could, she swam beneath the surface of the river, and she could swim fast and long. Her footprints on the mud should be destroyed by the rain already; yes, she was safe. It meant they won't drag her back to that place where most of the kids hated her, where everyone stared at her behind her back; the place where she always felt guilty for spreading her curse over other people. She was going to make her life for herself from now on.

But that also meant that no-one would come here to help her; she was on her own, and she had to find a way out of that cave with her own brains and strength. She tried to climb up the stony wall, but all she accomplished was sliding back down into the mud. She looked around, but she could not find any tunnels; only way was up. She could try to scream for help, but it was rather remote neighborhood – forests would go for miles and miles. And the questions they would ask her could be uncomfortable, too.

If only it was as in those stories! Ironic smile twitched her face. Long time ago, when she was little, carers in the orphanage had often read them fairy tales, and it seemed like in every other one there was a troubled princess in the tower, and a beautiful, valiant prince would always come to aid her. Then they would marry, of course, and live happily ever after; in the world that never existed, that could never exist.

„So where's the prince?" she asked the night, she asked the rocks, she asked the mud. „Juvia could use one now!" She kicked a stone and it rolled into the darkness. Nobody answered her, of course; she wasn't surprised. The stories were all lies. It was not a tower, but a cave; she was not a princess, but a monster; and there would never be a prince, only endless rain.

There was no point just standing like that. She tried to climb the wall once more. But it was slippery still, her clothes were heavy from the rain and her boots were full of water, so she fell down again. Her teru teru bozu detached from her dress and fell into the mud. She went to pick it up, but stopped midway, staring at it.

„Why do you never work?" she seethed to the little doll. „Any of you! You promise and you never give!"

There had been an old woman once that taught her how to make those dolls; she had always been nice to Juvia and she used to take her from the orphanage for weekends and holidays. She would always play with her, and hug her, and tell her stories, and teach her things, and she would always say that she didn't mind the rain... But then she got sick and her family told Juvia that she should never come again.

„Stupid," she said to the doll. „You are stupid. You are a lie too!"

The doll didn't answer. She was alone, as always; nobody wanted her and nobody ever will, aside from the rain. Juvia should marry the rain, she thought gloomily. Or maybe they were already married, since it followed her everywhere.

„Are you so jealous you can't leave Juvia alone even for a minute?" she asked. „And Juvia doesn't remember saying 'yes' either!" She wished the rain was a person, so she could hit it; she would beat it, kick it and bite it, until it would let her go, until it would go away.

But that was a lie, too, she knew. The rain was not her husband, the rain was her; and she couldn't get any further away from herself. So who was left for her to marry? Noone would love a rain woman like her, aside from the water creatures: so pike or trout, salmon or cod. Her husband should be half-fish. She would swim down the rivers and streams all the way to the sea, and she would never come out of it again. Under the sea it never rains. She would find her husband half-fish, and maybe she'd become a fish herself; they would have many little fishes together, sardines, herrings and roaches. What a pretty picture.

Or maybe she'd become a mermaid and cover herself with seashells; she'd wear seaweeds in her hair and turn into seafoam in the end of day. Or better yet, she would be a shark; she would then eat all the pretty, silly girls that believed in stupid stories, she would crush their bones and drink their blood. She would kill all the princesses, so the princes would wander aimlessly around empty towers.

Or even better than that! She could see it now: Juvia Lockser descends into the sea, and her skin falls off, her hair unravels, her blood pours into the water, her body dissolves. And then the giant wave rises over the cities full of happy people, and drowns all the lovers, all the families, all the parents that love their children, all the old women that get sick when they shouldn't, all the man who would never want her, and she – one with the sea now – calmly watches their terror and their death, for she has no need of them.

But then she disappears too, and there's no Juvia anymore, there is no more rain – only the sea.

She didn't know if her face was more wet from rain or tears. She sat down on the wet rubble and sobbed loudly, till she cried all the rain from her eyes. She was alone, she was cold, she was trapped and she was still herself. But she was also calm now. Juvia was going to be so independent, and now she's crying like a child and wishing stupid things... How pitiful. She had to stop this. She shook her head and stood up.

„Juvia is sorry," she said to teru teru bozu, and picked it up from the mud. „It's not your fault. You do what you can." The old woman had told her that it might not work the first time or the tenth, or even hundreth, but that she should still hope, she should believe the rain will cease one day. She had told Juvia that everyone's body is made mostly of water, and so is the surface of the planet; it was there for everything to live, not to be the death of it.

She had told Juvia that the greatest gifts come at the greatest price.

She sniffed. She did understand it: she had to make her weakness into her strength. Aside from her magic, there was nothing she had. And it was her magic which would get her out of here: she saw it now, the rain was constantly pouring into the cave, and there was more and more water around her; it will fill the cave and she would swim up with it, and she would be free.

All she had to do was wait. She lied down on one of the bigger rocks and closed her eyes, listening to the constant pitter-patter of the rain. Soothed by its familiarity, she recalled one more story, the story that the old woman told her: it was very different from those about waiting for the prince.

As her consciousness drifted away from the cave, she saw herself floating in the boat without her shoes; the river took her to the garden, where all the flowers told her the strangest stories. But she couldn't listen to them, she understood she lost something; she was terrified, she had to find it – but what was it? She ran and ran, and ran, the snow fell down and the crows danced around her (what was it?), she saw a castle, she saw two lilies, she saw the forest; the knife was touching her neck, then the world swirled and she was riding on a reindeer (what was it?), still not there, still not there; then the red, red berries and a cold, cold palace made of ice. She knew she was near (but near to what?); she ran inside on her frozen feet, she went through endless corridors, she crossed all the half-transparent rooms until she reached the heart of the palace.

There she understood what was she so desperately looking for: a dark-haired boy, sitting on the frozen floor. Pieces of variously shaped ice lied everywhere around him; he moved them on the floor, as if he was trying to follow some pattern, as if he was trying to recreate something that was broken. And as she stood by the door, he felt her there, he turned to her and he asked just one thing:

„Do you know how to spell eternity?"

Author's note: Thanks for reading! I'd be grateful for your feedback.

I'd like to explain - the ending corresponds to Hans Andersen's The Snow Queen. So if you don't know it/don't remember it, go ahead and read it (it's easy to google). I feel it's strangely relevant to Gruvia and I wonder if Mashima wrote it that way intentionally. It's also obviously better than anything I could ever write -_o