Drawn

The rocky place is small, barren and lonesome; Perhaps that's why the Siren calls in a noiseless thunder that furiously travels across the water, through the air, to reach the unsuspecting. They are keenly aware now; something that they didn't realize they needed now drives them and grasps at them with desperate, delicate tendrils. All will has been pulled from them; they will cast out blindly in the direction of that beckoning, oblivious to the storms and dangers in their way. Some are lost in their search; they do not find what they expect or they falter in their journey, and become remnant that serves as a useless warning to those who continue to purse the Siren, who waits on her rock in the middle of the endless ocean.

A scattered remnant arrives; and when they do, some despair, for what they heard deceived them into believing another had called for them; and some persist in the fantasy, even making failed attempts to reimagine the Siren, but it is useless- The Siren is what the Siren is.

But there are yet the fragment of the seekers who arrive at the blasted stone and behold the Siren, and it is everything they hope for and held to in their journey. And it is then that they realize that inasmuch as the Siren called to them, so too did they call.