"Come to me, come to me." The cry of the Crocotta echoes from the ancient forests of Eastern Europe to the flowing fields of grain in the new world. Always hunting, looking for those that it may devour.
"Come to me, come to me. I am father, mother, brother. Come to me." It plaintively wails. "I will grant your wishes, tell you secrets, give you peace, come to me."
Now a new way to call; all those lovely wires tied to all those broken hearts. "Come to me."
The hopes and dreams are crushed by a mouth full of fangs.