A/N: I do not own Durarara!. All rights go to their original owners. The prologue is focusing on the mother of my OC; the story isn't centered around her.

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The moment she awoke, something felt amiss.

Perhaps it was intuition, maybe she was paranoid, but there was no denying that a sickening dread had settled within the pits of her stomach.

The room looked the same as before: the white walls remained blank, the pictures of her family were left undisturbed, the furniture was untouched. She could even feel the soft rise and fall of her husband's sleeping form beside her, his blissful ignorance unperturbed. The woman herself was healthy and unharmed; besides the feeling of something horribly awry, she felt utterly fine. So, what could possibly be wrong?

Maybe she was going insane? No, there was nowhere in her family tree that suggested mental illness and somehow, she knew this feeling to be more instinctual than misplaced. It was some unknown sense kicking in, a horrible estimation of all to come and what ill-begotten fate they will arrive to, the path inexplicably changing by a drop of a hat. The worse part was the helplessness that came with her prophetic inquiry: there was nothing to be done, nothing to change these new set of circumstances, whatever they were.

A sudden wail broke through the silence, muffled by the protective barriers of the walls and doors. Her logic registered it as their child, the baby with whom she proud fully called her own, the cute thing barely older than a newborn. The woman knew she should feel a slight mix of aggravation and fondness, the idea of getting out of bed and sleep to perform her motherly duties coupled with the love of their precious little girl. It always made her feel a wonderful sense of peace, but this time, it disturbed her.

The sound of the baby's cry deepened her sense of discomfort to an almost apprehensive dread, as if petrified by the idea of seeing the tiny thing in its crib. What was to fear exactly? There remained the problem: she truthfully had no idea. The fear seemed to blossom from her idea of a new set of Fates, the unknown present circumstances shifting the pathway of life into horrible configurations. But, what exactly were these new circumstances, these new surroundings?

Suddenly, it hit the woman like a brick wall.

The baby's wail. It was different somehow. There was no obvious change and she was willing to admit that it was perhaps identical to the others, but her gut thought otherwise.

That child-the one crying out for love and attention through the walls-wasn't theirs.

It was as if someone hotwired her nerves, her muscles quickly set into action and her brain running amok with horrible visions and thoughts. The woman did not bother to see if her husband drew himself awake by her sudden plight; she threw the comforter off her body and hurriedly ran of the room, slamming the door to the hall open. There was a resonating bang that could be heard, but she barely processed its existence, dashing towards another door on the opposing end of the hallway, the door that held the wailing child from within, the child that was supposed to be hers but never was.

She pushed it open with more force than necessary, not even using the doorknob and hearing it crash against the other wall with all of its momentum, causing the young baby to shriek with fear. The woman, who usually withheld sympathy for her own daughter, did not even feel remorse for startling the tiny thing. Trembling with fear, she walked towards the crib with faint and faltering steps, scared of what she may discover, of what is now the cruel imitation of her sacred child.

Upon finally reaching the encaged bed, she cast an apprehensive gaze inside of it, her blood turning cold at the sight. The baby looked no different than it ever did before; in fact, one could say it looked completely identical to her own child. But, she knew it wasn't her daughter.

It was a girl, tiny and pink, tears rolling down its cheeks as it reached out blindly for a body, her body. But she didn't pick it up, she didn't touch it.

"Chinatsu…?" came the soft, sleepy voice of her husband, his eyes burning into the back of her neck with confusion. "Chinatsu, I think you scared her."

However, she didn't react, merely stared bleakly at the tiny and wailing flesh, wondering the consequences of her killing it. Her husband said her name over and over again, the woman still not responding to his somewhat distressed calls. She could not even muster any strength in her limbs to move aside as he brushed past her, touching the baby and picking it up, shushing it, trying to calm the child down, "It's fine, Kazumi...Daddy's here for you...shhhh...you don't need to cry…"

Slowly, the wails died down to a tiny whimper, the man holding it firmly as he repeated their daughter's name, seemingly deceived by this illusion.

The woman knew better, though.

That wasn't their Kazumi.

A/N: I just want to say, if you have read this, thank you very much for doing so and I hope you continue reading this story as well.