It had been a long and arduous journey, but at last, I had come to a dimly-lit room which housed a strange casket.

I knelt, and with great care, used my dagger to slice away the bonds.

Almost as soon as I had removed the contents, my faithful feline companion leapt into the outer shell.

Inside, comprised of some black material and marked with silver and white, there was a second sarcophagus. I tilted it upright for a better look. Yes, there was the legend - DoD: Dream of Doll. I knew what it meant, and it was, indeed, a dream coming true.

It is said that when Howard Carter opened the tomb of the boy-king Tutankhamun, he was asked by his patron if he saw anything. "Yes," he replied. "Wonderful things."

Wonderful things. I see wonderful things. It had become my motto, a mantra I whispered to myself in the hardest of times; longing for the day when I, too, might uncover something wonderful, something the likes of which had never been known. And here it was. With reverence, I opened the case and looked inside. One at a time, I pulled out the accoutrements that were nestled 'round a covered form.

The necessities of life set, for the moment, to the side, I removed the little mummy. It was quite padded - someone must have cared greatly for him, to take such pains for his safety.

I tore away the outer layer, revealing the golden pillows in which my foundling rested. Fine pillows - silken pillows! Pillows fit for no less than a king, an emperor, someone's beloved child.

I reached out, and loosed the ties.

There was yet another layer between us, but it was clear, and through it, I could see him at last - yes, he! Tiny, perfect; his eyes were open and seemed to gaze up at me, waiting patiently to be freed.

My hands shaking, I peeled away the final wrappings. I took as much care in revealing him as must have been given when he was laid to rest. Even so, I feared that, in my zeal, I might inadvertantly do him damage. I do not think I breathed again until he lay before me, as naked as the day he had been born; the barriers that had kept my skin from his no more.

I did not know whether his lack of garments disturbed him, but I cannot say I was entirely at ease viewing him thus. Among the packets I had abandoned earlier, I found a wig that might well have been spun straight from silver. "Yes," I thought I heard - felt? - him say, "that is the one." I slid it from its protective covering and, after placing it upon his head, helped him to sit up.

"So," he said, "this is my hair. Yes, I quite like this."

He indicated to me that I should look in another corner of the room. There, I found a few simple garments.

"Yes...this is much better."

I arranged the pillows, and he made himself comfortable on them. Only then did he continue to speak.

"My name is Chymerae, and though, as you have already guessed, it has been many a day since I walked this earth in flesh, I have not been completely dormant. I have roamed in thought, in memory and dream, and I have searched for the one who would free me and give me true life once more. It is I who have led you here; I who have whispered in your ear in the darkness, in the voice you heard but did not hear."

"You know the ceremony. I have taught it to you through those who have awakened my kin."

I pulled from my pack the candle and a tattered book of matches. Set in its death's-head holder, it leapt soon enough to life, and I placed it before him.

"Omukae, Chymerae! Omukae!" Welcome home, Chymerae! Welcome!

I blew on the candle, and as it flickered and went out, it passed to him the breath of life - or so, at least, it is said.

"Shall we play with my hair? First, the shorter - the white."

"Now the red - ah, this is the life!"

He donned the black, and bowed. "You see, then, that I am many things - and can be anything; anything that you might wish me to be."

"And so I am here. You have called me, and I have come..."

© 2005, Atra Materia.

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