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CHIMERA

[(n.) an illusion or fabrication of the mind; an unrealizable dream]

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"Evenin', doc."

"Good evening."

"Here to check up on C33 again?"

"As usual…How is she?"

"Still out cold, that's for sure."

"I meant her vitals."

The nurse tapped the end of her pen against the edge of the clipboard, clicking her tongue. She flipped several pages that were clamped on the board, her eyes lazily skimming through her sheets behind thick-framed, square glasses. Upon reaching the page she was looking for, she slapped the paper with the back of her hand to flatten the folds, before humming inquisitively while scanning the hand written words and numbers. "As stable as yesterday." She announced with her strong southern accent, and then covered that page with the rest that came before it, slapping at the top once again before handling it to the doctor who stood at the other side of the counter. Her eyes came to rest upon the gloved hand that grasped the clipboard while the man reviewed the morning's check up on said patient. She always found it strange for the doctor to be wearing surgical gloves all the time. He wasn't even one who specializes in surgery in the first place.

The doctor, after reading the notes, turned to a blank page and scribbled the date on one corner, August 4, 2013, followed by the time, and after that tucked the clipboard under his arm so he could adjust the lapels of the immaculate white lab coat. He nodded to the nurse behind the counter, muttering his polite thanks, before heading out through one of the halls.

Walking in the middle of the hall, his leather shoes tapped against the cold tiled floor and echoed back on the whitewash walls. A few people walked pass him, most were nurses, staff, and a few visitors, but most of the time the corridor was empty. Fluorescent lights that hung above every few steps were bright and only seemed to make the walls and floor even whiter. A few would fluctuate, blinking on and off quickly for a few seconds, the filaments of the bulbs having been strained from overused, and in the night time it would seem like a scene from a horror story, but it didn't quite bother or scare the doctor. He just kept walking, eyes straight and nonchalant, strutting with long legs, the black color of his slacks and shoes contrasting against all the white.

He knew the way like the back of his hand, because it has been the only way he had been walking through for the pass year since he first arrived (and quite mysteriously) in this hospital. Though having worked for that long, not many knew of him. All they knew is that he's a neurophysiologist, and that he was English. He works the nightshift a lot, but not many night shifters see him walk the halls except Hall C. Always going towards his only destination in the entire building.

It was the fifth to the last room before encountering another corner, but God knows whether he ever walked through that corner, because he stops, almost mechanically, in front of that door. "C33" hung on the top of the door's frame, embellished in a blue color against a white rectangular plaque. With a swift turn of the knob, the white hard plastic door opened and the doctor stepped in, shutting the door behind him shortly, the lock clicking.

Inside did not contrast much from outside: White walls, white tiles, white ceiling with a fluorescent light. There was a large window though, light blue curtains drawn down. A little gap between the curtains showed a moonless sky and the distant headlights of cars passing by.

The average-sized room had few furniture: A peach leather sofa in one side, a small table, a plastic chair by the iron bed's end table. A small TV hung on the top corner but was never turned on. There was a slender vase on the side table, empty. An IV drop hung on a stand, still full which meant that the last one just ran out and was replaced. A urine catheter hung below one side of the bed's frame, not even full. On the bed itself, was the doctor's patient. Lying in pressed sheets of pure white was a young woman – 19 years of age, according to her profile. Her birthday was in two days, the doctor noted.

Her obsidian hair had grown longer than when she first arrived, and they splayed out on her pillow neatly, a few strands settling on her shoulders. Her skin was pale, but not sickly, as there was still a faint flush of color. Lips, parted a bit, were naturally tinted like a rose. Her eye color has yet to be seen, her lids with long, curl lashes having covered them, but he knows of their color.

She didn't look sick at all. So why was she in the hospital?

Almost a year ago, this young lady announced that she was going to go to sleep early after dinner, and sleep she did. She never woke up since.

Doctors are baffled by her condition. She had no history of illnesses, no signs of disease, not even mental problems. Her vitals are always normal. She took no drugs, no overdose in sleeping pills. MRI scans suggest no major problems, but only a slower-than-normal brain function.

All they know is that she was in some sort of coma. A deep sleep.

The doctor took a recheck of her vitals, listening to her heartbeat through a stethoscope. Normal. Breathing rate. Normal. Temperature. Normal. Reflex. Still no response. He set his things aside and then studied the IV, making sure the fluid drops well. And when all was done, he stood still, looking down at his patient with a distant and sad gaze, hidden behind lose strands of dark bangs.

Settling himself on the chair, the doctor leaned down until his face was but a few inches from hers, close enough to admire her beauty, but he was actually watching intently at the subtle movements behind the thin skin of her eyelids. He then raised his hand and allowed his knuckles to gently graze her cheek, her warmth seeping through the glove.

He leaned forward a little more, his lips closer to her ear, to whisper softly.

"My lady, it's time to wake up."

The sound of the silky voice made her eyes flutter open, revealing two bleary orbs of brilliant amber.

She shifted in her thick sheets, turning away before the long, dark curtains where drawn back and the bright light of the morning sun filled the room with its glow. She moaned softly at the scent of tea, a hint of lemon in its fragrance. Her nose also detected the fresh scent of butter biscuits and berries, and it encourage her enough to raise herself from the canopied, queen-sized bed, forgetting not to lower the blanket from her chest as she was only wearing a thin slip.

She heard footsteps making her way towards her bed and turned, watching the dark figure approach her, his tall frame blocking the light of the sun from her eyes, the twin tails of his ebony coat fluttering behind him.

"For this morning I have prepared some Fortnum and Mason's Darjeeling tea," the dark-clad male said in a smooth mechanical but polite manner, approaching the cart to pick up to teapot and the matching china cup.

As he poured in the still steaming liquid while discussing the details about breakfast, the dark-haired woman was staring at the sophisticatedly decorated bedroom she was in with slight awe, as if she never seen this room before. With the back of her hand, she rubbed her eyes, blinked several times after that, and stared back at the room, her eyebrows furrowing a little.

"Is something the matter, mistress?" asked the male upon noticing her odd scrutiny of her surroundings.

Blinking herself back to focus, she turned to him. "Oh…it's nothing. I just…" she trailed off, thinking her next words properly, once again furrowing her eyes in deep contemplation. "It felt like…I didn't sleep here." She finally said in a low, whispered tone, turning to him.

"You were never in any other place while you slept, my lady. I can assure you of that. If I were to allow anyone to take you away while you sleep, then what kind of butler would I be?" He replied, the corners of his lips tugging up in a faint smirk, while his gloved hand pressed on his chest.

The female stared up at him with a blank gaze, interest now lost on the room and now at a pair of blood-red eyes. "You're not my butler." She suddenly said.

The male's smirk diminished, his hand lowering and returning to his side, his gaze steely. "It is still my duty to protect you." He replied simply, eyes closed.

"Of course…" the young lady whispered to herself. She threw off the covers from her and scooted from the middle of the bed, sitting on the edge, slender fair legs dangling, her toes grazing the red carpet, and then reached for the cup of tea that was left on her bedside table, next to the slender vase with a single red rose. "What…day is it today?" she felt compelled to ask as she stared at the ripples on her tea.

"It is Thursday."

"Date?"

"The fourth of August, 1899." He said as he walked towards a cushioned chair, lifting the cream-colored robe that hung from the back of the chair. "Pray tell, mistress, why you keep asking for the date every morning?"

She hummed, forehead creasing. 'My birthday's in two days,' she realized while she raised a hand to her face, absentmindedly kneading her temple as if it suddenly hurt. "I just wanted to make sure." She looked up when the butler returned with the cotton and silk robe, and she allowed him to drape it over her shoulders, helping her arms pass through the sleeves.

"Sometimes, I feel like I've slept too long and missed a few days." She continued in a very low tone, close to a whisper. The butler glanced up at her, having heard those words, and for a moment she thought he felt his nails graze her bare shoulder through the fabric of his gloves, seemingly scratching at the lightly glowing blue pentacle resting there.

Then his gaze lowered, focused on strapping her robe. "I have prepared your dress for today. Will you be requiring my assistance in clothing you?" he asked, one knee still propped on the floor before her.

She shook her head, fighting the color to tint her cheeks. "No. There's no need."

"Very well."

The butler stood up and watched as she took a long sip of her tea. "My young master would like to have breakfast with you in the dining room." He announced in a flat tone, turning to tend with the tea cart.

"But he doesn't even eat," She said, her lips just a little away from the cups rim, "All he does is stare at me."

He stopped his ministrations and turned to her, staring at her with calculating eyes. A smirk made its way on his face, something rarely seen in the presence of his master but not to the mistress. "I'm sure my lord was just admiring his lady's beauty."

She frowned and huffed under her breath, lowering the now empty cup to its matching saucer. "He's admiring his food. That's for sure." She turned to him, and her frown lifted to a small smile. "You flatter me too much."

His smirk vanished at her first statement, but quickly hid it from her sight with a bow. He took the cup from her hands and set it back on the cart. "I shall excuse myself now so you may change." He bowed a little again after she nodded, and then turned to the door.

"By the way," She heard him say the very moment his hand held on the door knob.

"Good morning, Sebastian." She said with a small but bright smile.

Sebastian stared at that smile for a while, before replying with a failed mimic of that smile.

"Good morning, Lady Cybille."

And then he left, the door shutting behind him softly. The sound of the lock clicking seemed to echo louder than usual in her ears.

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N/A: So after the success of "Demons Fall First", I decided that it's by time I write a new fanfiction. Though for DFF fans, it doesn't mean I'm going to abandon the DFF one-shot collection "Spiraling Down".

I wanted to go for something new without doing another 'character-from-future-end-up-in-kuroshitsuji' fanfic, which this fandom already has a lot already. Instead, this is a story of a dream, of time, and of reality, and how these all warp and connect together.

This premiere chapter might be a bit confusing, because of the sudden change in time and setting, but that's part of the mystery. This is still the prologue. I'm not planning to make this a very long story, well, not as long as DFF, but long enough for a good read. And I did hope this first chapter captured you. Hopefully, this story will be as successful as Demons Fall First.

I can't assure of a weekly update, seeing that I'm a very busy person, and I still have my other story "Spiraling Down" to attend to, but I'll try to update as fast as I could. In the meantime, do tell me what you think of this prologue in your reviews. Don't forget to fav and follow as well.

Until then, have a pleasant something!

- SafireLupe, 8-11-2013