Elle, who runs the writing group I attend gave us a writing prompt and a quest to write exactly 100 words on it. This is what I came up with.
She sings at night on a street corner, her teeth flashing, her curls writhing, bathed in moonlight. They come, lured by the soul in her songs. She can no longer call them to her with enchantments. She remembers a time, millennia ago, when she held the seas in her throe, sailors hers to command, to toy with, to kill. She grieves at time’s passing.
The siren nudges her busker’s cap and winces at the sound of the few lonely coins jostling together. Looking at what she has become, sitting on a dirty street, she wonders, “Where did the magic go?”