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She yearns for someone to run his warm fingers through her hair, and lean in to whisper, you are my angel.

But no one does, though her yellow hair is the stuff of dreams. Women from all ages of the world have always yearned, still yearn, and will always yearn for hair like this; hair that cascades down in smooth waves, flowing in reflective ripples against the back of the dress. They yearn for hair that never tangles, hair so soft that it might have been woven from the diaphanous threads of gauzy moonlight strung across the night sky.

But now she sits, dusty, alone and decrepit, in a broken shaft somewhere where the wind howls with a rising vengeance. Her lustrous hair is still beautiful, but an eye has rolled out from the sockets in her face. Her voice rises on moonlit nights, capturing the remnants of life from the past in her sweet, decadent melodies, almost as chilling as the cries of the wind. She yearns for her maker and them of his race. She wishes, time and again, for a human face before which she can sing, and receive lavish praises uttered in glad tones.

But wait! She can hear the hint of footsteps. Somewhere, someone is walking on the arid, barren land of Matel. She stands. It is time to venture out of her secret hiding place, to find out the identity of he who dares to walk on the god-forsaken soil that drove out all its inhabitants in years long past.

Her feet tread silently, noiseless as the paws of a hunting tiger, as she drifts through the dry darkness that claims the night in Matel. She can see a shadow standing near one of the abandoned houses. She approaches, and the figure turns to face her. Ahhh. A little boy.

"Little boy?"

The young boy stared at her in silence.

"Little boy? Do you want to hear me sing a song?" I think I know what the answer will be. The doll blinks, her eyelashes glittering with night-dew in the moonlight. He will say no, of course, as people are apt to do when confronted with such a weird creature – a doll that can talk.

She raises her weapon, ready to strike should the boy offend her with a 'no'. This is not the first time that a living human has wandered into the desolate land that was once known as Matel, lost and hungry and desperate. There were four before him, in fact, and each one refused to listen to the doll's singing.

The doll can remember her last encounter with a living human male.

[[]]

"Do you want to hear me sing?"

The thin man cowered in front of her, arms raised before his face. With quivering, chapped lips, his thin, reedy voice rose into the empty night. "Get back! Get away from me!"

She decided to give him another chance. Leaning closer to that poor specimen of human-hood, the doll smiled her sweet smile. "Do you want to hear me sing?"

"I told you to scram, you ugly beast! I don't want to hear no one-eyed monster sing!" He swatted at her with trembling hands, as if she were a buzzing fly. "And I don't care if you've got a nice voice!"

Her anger stirred, from its source deep within her. Humans were such monsters. To create her, and then abandon her, dooming her to an eternity of solitude and loneliness, was absolutely inhumane.

The anger that she had suppressed since the day when she had woken to find herself alone in the great, echoing city had turned to canker over the many lonely years that had long faded into dust. And now this human was belittling her! She was made to sing, and sing she will! But first, she would slaughter him with her own pale man-made hands, and twist his throat into the semblance of the whittled moon.

Metal glinted in the night air, and the man screeched.

[[]]

The young boy stares into the empty eyes of the doll before him, unable to answer her question. How had he come to be cowering before her? He hadn't heard her footsteps before. Now he fidgets as he tries to think of the correct answer. A song would be nice on this windy day so bereft of pleasure and joy. And this girl looks nothing like the ogress described by the women in neighbouring villages some miles off, who had advised him to give Matel-the-once-town a wide berth.

[[]]

"Young man, where are you heading to?" the matronly woman smiled at the pre-teen passing by her door. "It's quite late now, you know, and it's not safe for travelling."

The little boy stared up at the woman with large eyes. "I'm heading that way, ma'am."

The woman recoiled, shock written in every wrinkle on her face. "Why, may I ask? That's a very dangerous route!"

"I'm searching for a living. I heard that there's work to be done in a nice city that way…"

"Listen, boy, you'd better not head that way. It's said that a witch lives there, a siren of a woman who lures in unsuspecting people with her singing. It's said that on full-moon nights like this, she rises from the grave and floats around, singing with the voice of the crying wind. When a person walks into her invisible trap, everything closes around him, and the song slowly kills him with its poisonous melody." The woman's voice trailed into a ghastly whisper.

The boy stiffened.

"Well, take care anyway, boy. Don't fall into the clutches of the evil songstress who hides in waiting in that abandoned city, like a bloated spider crouching stealthily on her well-spun web!"

[[]]

"Little boy? Do you want to hear me sing a song?" the doll looks at the little boy, sadness welling up in her fragile glass eyes. Please say yes.

"Please sing a song for me." The little boy smiles at her, unselfish in the kindness of his youth.

Please sing a song for me. The words echo in the doll's mind. Please sing a song for me. Those are words she has not heard for eons and eons. Her heart flutters, and she sinks to her knees, the better to sing at eye level.

Lacrimosa dies illa

Qua resurget ex favilla

Judicandus homo reus

Huic ergo parce, Deus:

Pie Jesu Domine,

Dona eis requiem. Amen.

The boy sways to the music, clapping when it ends.

"Come, little boy, what is your name?"

"My name is Guzol."

"I'm Lala."

"Hello Lala, you have a beautiful voice!"

Lala takes Guzol's hand, and together, they walk to the underground cavern that is Lala's home, the lingering echoes of the requiem swirling still in the dancing wind. Guzol is to be a homeless orphan no more, and Lala will no longer be a toy that lives only to entertain the heartless humans who made her in Matel's dying years.

The daunting decay fell over the town centuries ago, and nothing can halt its deathly progress now, but at least, in their deep cavern, Lala and Guzol can sing and minister to each other, and be safe from the big, bad world.

A/N: Heh I really shouldn't be on FF, but I'll be home late tomorrow, so I thought I should post this today. I'd have uploaded the next chapter of Roses After A Flood Of Tears, but there isn't enough time to edit it properly. So yeah.

I'm really tired, but I still have tonnes of homework to do. Sighs. Ohh right. This fic was inspired by lye tea's Siren; it's a most beautiful read. Go read it if you have the time to! :)

Yupps okay I need to go off, so thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated :D