Chapter Text

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The Prologue (Like Ships That Pass In The Night)

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The Siren was old, and throughout her life she'd seen the deepest, most intriguing parts of the land and sea, and, as she wandered the earth, she watched human society ripen. She'd watched villages sprout into towns, blossom into villages, cities, and empires. Then she'd watch those same empires fall, castles crumble into rubble and dust under the weight of time.

It was their fault every time. Not once had she witnessed humans face destruction brought by anything other than more humans. She'd always thought that they were too frail creatures to be constantly making enemies of each other, especially when things far more dangerous were among them. And, for as much as they thought that they were at the top of the food chain, they were wrong.

That was until she came along, but even then, they had brought their own demise.

They're the ones that gave her a reason to step onto land in the first place.

They gave her a bone to pick, and that, paired with a severe case of henhouse syndrome, gave the siren a reputation that would last for as long as she lived.

But even after her quick and dirty first romp onto land hundreds of years ago, Magnolia still didn't spend much time topside. She thought—despite never being incarcerated—that it felt like a prison. The entire experience of being on land, walking around on two legs, and being surrounded by and forced to interact with humans was as dry as a chip.

It didn't require much effort, but every minute task and societal standard made the ever-present balancing act required when intermingling with humans feel monotonous. It didn't help that the way humans defined the word "civilized" was always in flux, as were their shallow opinions about who fit that definition.

Assimilating was all too much and too boring, so every short period of time she spent on land with them left her feeling on edge and had her swiftly returning to the water.

She enjoyed the 1700s, before all the cars and trains, when word of mouth was the main source of news, and even then, it traveled as slowly as molasses. That's when Magnolia did very little self-governing. She was able to exchange subtly for swiftness; instead of relying on the pretense that she was human or something close enough, Magnolia leaned into what made her a Siren.

There wasn't a need to pull her punches or hide herself away when no one could run for help, and papers took just a little too long to print. Humans were dumber, and their minds were weaker too; all it took was her even acknowledging them for the humans to do whatever Magnolia wanted of them. A nice house, the best clothes, citrus fruit, they'd even lie across a dining table and open themselves up for her to feast.

She wouldn't even have to say a word.

The Thrall was more than spoken words, and easier than a siren song. It's something that even as an infant, the Siren was able to do, and the strength only increased as she aged.

Thralling was an unseen force that pulled you in like the tide. It made everything make sense, and narrowed the world until the only reason to live was to make Magnolia happy. It was quick and easy, so even that got boring over time. Stronger creatures like Vampires, Werewolves, and even other Sirens—who would put up more of a fight against being thralled—were few and far between, but the overabundance of humans only gave her cattle to fight when what she really craved were creatures with more bite.

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It was early 1939, and Magnolia didn't know why she felt the urge to step out of the Atlantic Ocean and onto a beach in Mexico.

She didn't recognize the old, deep-rooted instinct that called her onto land, and so she told herself that it was just a craving for citrus.

She went inland, straight towards the nearby lemons and limes that were beginning to ripen on the citrus trees. The sweet-tangy fruits were the only thing that closely resembled the taste of humans, so, after the darker moments of her time on land, she'd taken to indulging in the fruits instead.

But as she made her way further inland, the siren came across an old barn surrounded by silence and the thick scent of blood. She knew what was hidden within those barn walls immediately. Behind the thick, sickly sour smell of human blood gone bad was the sharper scent of venom-preserved flesh. The smell of vampires and old prey. Though beneath it all was one more scent, the only one that Magnolia cared about.

It was a scent that only brought forward memories of long battles and even longer journeys walked alone. That scent and whoever it belonged to was what called the Siren to land, and months too late. The scent was old and swept away easily with the wind.

Magnolia returned to the water soon after; she'd lost interest in the barn of vampires the moment she noticed how old the one that pulled her there was. Though despite herself, she'd remained closer to shore than he had previously in the hope that she'd come across it again.

Because after well over six centuries alive and spending the majority of that time in solitude, Magnolia had stopped considering that she'd have a mate, and she never even attempted to convince herself that she'd deserved one,

The Siren was easily angered and held onto grudges for centuries. Her mind and body only ever harbored pain, grief, and every other sullen equivalent; there was no room for love in her body. And as she swam back into the water, she thought to herself that maybe that was why her first time learning of his existence was like ships that pass in the night rather than waves crashing along the shoreline.