Hello, readers. I do hope that you will enjoy my first ever Hakuouki fic. Because I am attempting to be as mysterious as possible, I will not do my usual into that explains a bit about the plot. You'll just have to read and find out what happens. I will warn you that the first few chapters are short since they are introduction chapters. They're annoying to write, but necessary to get the ball rolling. I started this story yesterday, when the idea appeared out of nowhere and slapped me upside the head, and thought 'this is gonna be good! I have to post it!'. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I do writing it.

His green eyes sparked with a dangerous light as they met hers. His lips twisted into a cruel and sarcastic smirk. She knew what his next action would be. He would make a scathing remark that would tear into her very soul. He was as skilled with words as he was with a blade, and just as deadly. However, even as he stood before her, tall, proud, and lethal, she was not afraid. She spoke quickly, eager to cut off his poison words before they could leave his mouth.

"You are wrong," she said, "You misread my intentions. I have not come to pity you."

His brows furrowed slightly and the smirk lessened.

"Then why have you come?"

She took a deep breath, her heart fluttering within her chest.

"I came to tell you that I love you."

Jade sat bolt upright in bed, the blanket pooling around her legs as it fell from her torso. A sheen of sweat caused her long hair to stick to her pale face. Her arms, bared by her white tank top, were hard and rigid as her hands fisted in the sheets, supporting her weight. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath in the wake of the realistic dream. Her heart raced within her chest as she remembered those dangerous, beautiful green eyes that had stared at her, so cold and yet so full of emotion.

Gradually, her breathing calmed and her fists unclenched. She placed one hand on her forehead, feeling the cold sweat that remained on her skin. Taking a final, shaky breath, she reached for the book that perched on her bedside table. As she opened it with trembling hands, she relived the dream in her mind.

It had been as if she had no control over her body. It had been her who had confessed to the man, yet it had not been. She knew for a fact that the person she was in the dream was not named Jade Good. In fact, she did not know what her dream self's name was. Nor did she know the name of the man. He had been in every dream she had for the past six months. Ever since her twentieth birthday, she had dreamed of the man. There was never anyone else in the dreams, just her and the man. He was always dressed in traditional Japanese garb. A pair of swords hung at his right hip, a katana and a wakashi, both of which he could use masterfully. Over everything, he wore a blue and white haori. She knew that the coat signified something important about who he was, but she could never figure out what. In the dreams, she was only able to say the things that had been scripted for her by her dream self. She too was always dressed in a traditional kimono with an obi sash, and, somehow, she knew that the scripted words she was speaking were Japanese.

At first the dreams had been intermixed with other, regular dreams and had appeared infrequently. Lately, however, they had dominated her sleeping time, as if they were attempting to send some urgent message. There were five that seemed to be on a rotation. First was the one where her dream self met the man for the first time. The second dream was more frightening, as it was about the man saving her from a group of other men, who had made their intentions toward her quite clear. Third, Jade's dream self was at the market, shopping, when the man came up to her, smirking. He started bantering playfully with her, seeming to enjoy her company, a charming smile gracing his lips. The fourth dream always began with Jade's dream self standing in the middle of a street that was bathed in moonlight. Before her, was the man. His eyes were blood red and his hair was white like freshly fallen snow. He gazed at her coldly. She was obviously not supposed to have seen his demonic appearance. She had just experienced the fifth dream, in which she confessed her love to the man after he scathingly told her that she should save her pity for someone who needed it. Jade knew that he had some sort of illness that had worsened, and that he had assumed it was the reason she had come.

Jade quickly wrote the dream in the book, a diary, that was almost full of other dream descriptions. In the top, outer corner of each page was the date, beginning on the day of her birthday, March seventeenth.

No matter how many times she experienced the dreams, her reactions to the happenings in each one were the same. The emotions of her dream self overran any familiarity, and it was as if she were experiencing it for the first time again.

Sighing, Jade, put the book back on her bedside table. Fortunately, the dreams only came once a night, which meant she could still get at least a small amount of normal rest.