Artemis wandered quite aimlessly most days: unsure of how to contact the Daughter of King Minos, let alone his idiot son...known as the Minotaur, for his large ears and resemblance to a jackass--he had strayed from the pack...yammering in disapproval, as to how his sister would have solution--an obvious tint of jealously and disregard to his own words kept the down-turned edges of a beastly mouth stiffened and bored. Artemis chose a random tree to fall asleep under--greeting the bare branches that bore blossoms in the spring, giving little hesitance to the beauty of a stark frame in its off-season. The tiresome dreams slithered in the calmest of nights--Artemis occasionally found resolution to her mounting problems, whereas in other times...she was plagued with illusions of manual labor; heightened by the presence of unhelpful counterparts--those unprofessional few that went out of their was to do less, rolling eyes and ushering Artemis from their sight when she went about her merry way...minding her own and holding up standards of agreed upon labors; accidentally crushing lazy personalities if they dared cross her path and pointing out the sub-standards afforded young professionals, older professionals, and comparing them to the crippling standards held only to Artemis...for whatever unspoken fucking reason. More often-than-not...she was left to lay out objections and reflections against the apathetic tides of corruption, standing tall-only to be knocked down again; no longer comfortable with the title of victim to circumstances when change was offered just beyond the horizon--Artemis, swaying in madness as she growled into the winds of regulation and legality...refusing to apologize for asking questions and being herself.

Her misery came from growing up on a land and within a society; built on incompetence and white people privileges, but luckily..Artemis knew a diligent work-ethic was unique in most settings--wandering off in dreams and real life; blowing a tax-funded whistle when strange tactics became blurred between legal and possibly criminal...the hand-to-hand combat of battling off mistreatment that came barreling from every direction; the echoing memories of the many times where Artemis was met with only the solution of punching her way out of dangerous situations...no longer kept her anchored to quick-triggered aggression. Real life often kept her crawling along a path of undeserved success--deemed as pathetic, an easy person to provide a goat to scape consequences and easy enough to discard if all else failed...the safe guards of common sense kept Artemis clamoring to sands and soils on all fours and seeking aid from insured entities in times of great darkness. Answers to simple questions were avoided at extreme costs--unaware that Artemis was comfortable accepting causation and reactions to be of the same thread: she had studied people in-depth and endured literal torture to survive a fostering system while held imprisoned on a delinquent timeline referred to only as the era of Hades. The likelihood of being wrong and knowing the importance of accountability offered little help to corporate leaders; shoveling blame upon her grave...Artemis yelling "I’m still alive"...static eyes and contention kept shovels in hand busy--to bury an educated worker, hoping she’d accept the fate of failure uncontested and withdrawn into silent ease.

Artemis remembered how they had called her troubled, for being sleepy as a teenager--her body malnourished as punishment from a teacher claiming the sins of sleep were an insult to the entirety of her professionalism. A lack of iron and an unpaid occupation providing janitorial and child-care services six hours a day...kept Artemis bored by adults--saying little as she observed them taking turns gouging out their eyes and ears...whenever abrasive attitudes didn’t rise to their occasions of teaching for the sake of ego or vanity. They had put her in severe dangers...snitching to a child abuser instead of asking a growing teenager a single question "are you ok", "how are you"...nothin; they were afraid of her...known for holding back tears at the slightest encounter, fear shivering down to her bones. Those of Crescent City...could fucking care less that they had caused her a life of suffering: woven with physical, and emotional abuse--their words thrown out as complaints or gossip against an orphan with thoughtless ease.

Artemis would always be punished double: for the embarrassment of failure to her abuser, and then again another time, for the grades deemed fit for the child laborer--the one-two tap of adults...keeping her off the axis of academic success had brought a sense of deep awareness for the feelings of others. Artemis sat in the forest with her Golden Fleece and began to pull at the intertwined webs that lay within her weapons of silver and gold, her hands heavy with insecurity and the awful sensation of worry: wishing only to be left alone for her studies...the concept forever foreign to the low-income citizen. She called forth assistance by the Kind-Hearted Hunters at times of confusion; allowing herself to admit abject defeat, relying on them to care after raising her as their own responsibility, for whatever reason. The had taken her by the hand...helping along the way as she learned to find comfort in a world that was eager to condemn a reliant although disabled worker, for throwing out stray questions...unwoven by the differences of opinions and expectations that became obvious: in moments where primary focus needed to be placed on Artemis’s ability to regulate emotions when baseless accusations and unhelpful leaders had nothing to do with herself.

Artemis would always find a renewed hope in her life in the front-lines of such good company: they taught her to stand steady...silently enjoying their presence, and allowing herself to breathe without-guilt. They convened as a support-system that often held open-ended questions and mediation; to better digest her seemingly unending battles with conflict and failure. The craft of reasonable-doubt and steps back from glowing issues were learned skills...Artemis had implemented in the hopes to better assess hopeless scenarios; suggestions of sleeping on aggravated words and the shallow assumption that Artemis was surrounded by morons...wasn’t kept as a trade secret when the inevitable came crashing all around--instead of making issues worse, they’d laugh softly and allow the benefit of doubt to pose otherwise. Eating their words politely in nibbles when fate came knocking softly on the door of her supposed failures. She was taught to eject herself from pending drama...in the instances where the label of leader, manager, or assistant to a leader or manager; didn’t pertain to her agreed job description. Artemis never tired of their solicited advice--her spirits soaring when their unsolicited concerns were brought up in rooms where she was absent. A stolen childhood--felt less-tragic in moments gifted, where Artemis was sought out and pulled center stage to their protective concerns: to be cast as a person worth caring for...even if it meant protecting Artemis from herself.

They encouraged her with normalcy in lists of questions and concerns---gently reminding Artemis to select battles wisely on the occasion, and praising her persistence--noting the sacrifices needed to set the paths of greedy destruction straight: narrowed by realistic expectations and defended by labor regulations...those built-brick-by-brick by courageous citizens running into the fires of unknown, armed only with a battle cry of defiance; ringing a bell within the belly of each beast...risking retaliation and failure printed next to their names, as unjust punishment for sounding an alarm over entire cities. The shit falling downhill, carried to the peak of a company by people just like Artemis--the waste trickling down in waves of sludge; placed delicately upon the shoulders of those compensated fairly with livable wages and titles to praise. Artemis was allowed to run wild--taught that doing the right thing was rarely without steep costs; the spoils of war being only a clear conscious and a deep sleep that put her unrest soul to mild ease.

The Kind-Hearted Hunters were always around when Artemis needed them the most, accrediting their absence with worry and kindness...pretending as though their own path of world-domination were all a part of ancient history. Artemis often avoided telling them details of her looming sadness because of this--she had been born a fucking nobody, raped as an infant and locked away from the world as punishment. The Kind-Hearted Hunters were already known worldwide: for they had traveled far-and-wide crushing stages with a handful of songs and brass melody with prominent ease.

Artemis often became callous when strangers praised their campaigns of victory--their boasting was meet with her using soft words like the Kind-Hearted Hunters...smiling and saying "that’s nice" in a chipper tone, when shown portraits of the couple wandering around with bodyguards and splitting the seas of crowds clamoring for an autograph after sold out shows--her ability to remain humble by their accomplishments was like their version of casting magic spells over the masses with their hit single. Artemis was so far removed from regular society most days; forever the child holding in tears if it meant others were comfortable. The pair had famously danced and sang for the world--long before Artemis had found the brevity to run away from a house built on terror and abuse. Most days, she let go of the idea of Justice aimed at the head of her primary abuser--rushing deep within precise pages to preserve memories, or risk trauma altering and or, erasing them out of a need for self-preservation...unwilling to let go of the reigns of her fixed reality. She had finally found an audience of three...cheering her on from endless bleachers and seated auditoriums, flowers in hand as they congratulated Artemis for rising to the occasion time-and-time again; holding tight to the light that had almost been diminished to the brink of suicide by the age eleven--her silence in moments of celebration painted as pain...leaving a broken heart. They argued that that there was nothing wrong with her...that she was enough, and worthy of love: stating the things left unsaid in early childhood...were now words she could hear. Each year: Artemis grew substantially stronger than everyone around--the strengths provided in caring and accepting reasonable expectations became a rewarding emotion that could only be felt by herself.

She called the three the parental figures, their title removed from whatever others called mom and dad and auntie...giving them a pin to pull in case of emergency; building the belief that they may want to evacuate her life at any moment. Artemis occasionally wept, afraid of letting others down...or, proving an abuser right...when she had hissed accusations that Artemis was worthless...like her birth-mother, lazy-to-a-fault...like a star-adorning birth-father. Insults hurled at strangers living under Hera’s roof and imposed rule-of-law, kept the child-abusing elder warm and snuggled: shielded by a family that often looked the other way for fun, or whatever. Their sins in enabling child labor and inflicting harm on children raised from toddler ages to teen years...had been belittled to minor concerns--because two of the three fostered daughters remained under one roof, and therefore all testament to abuse were void or painted as lies...falling sinfully from the mouths of children; "too-stupid" to leave at best. Artemis had seen the swirls of mixed morals consuming her life; the threat of self-deprecation threw her adolescent mind into a darkening shade of depression. Eventually Artemis had woken up on a random day, missing Athena--and taking it upon herself to run away in a last-ditch effort to survive...forced to forever look over a shoulder, as a lazy caseworker had often threatened to place her eagerly back in the claws of Hera...resulting in a teenager screaming in rebellion only once; telling the unprofessional guardian that she was willing to whatever it fucking took...to create a universe of space between a known child-abuser and herself.

Artemis had been locked away as a criminal for the outburst in emotion...a fair-enough judgement coming from a sketchy woman--claiming to care about children but complaining that Artemis was a burden, for a case file. Dehumanization had swallowed Artemis alive; dragging her back violently into a closet of blankets and starvation; plucking away at imperfect skin in moments of sheer fear. A cloud of permanent dread followed that lady; Artemis was forever pissed-off that the woman had said weird shit on the regular--warning a teenager that crows-feet wrinkles came as an expense to her un-taxed laughter and bright smiles. A thirty-year old woman had wanted to degrade all things worthy of cherishing, and then would turn around and tell a judge that a mask of misery had been proof of criminality. Artemis created an ocean of distance between herself and the gross negligence of an unwed "professional" upon a non-argument...where she stated with flat affect...that a kind couple would never wake up, and just up-and-decide to adopt a teenage orphan with the title criminal. A label etched into her precious skin by Ms. Butthole herself.

Artemis would revert to immature insults in the mere thoughts of such ugly company--plastering intent or sins upon her forehead...to prove the simplified point that her life had never belonged to her. It had taken years, for her to unburden ill-intended words of tax-funded guardian to the Kind-Hearted Hunters--eventually expressing a deep sorrow in the fact she had been left behind in the world...embarrassed by the hopes of being adopted in a youth robbed of all normality. The couple and their friend Mel--were notorious for a single wondrous song...written many moons before Artemis had even been born--a dying star; crash-landing into a thankless world, garnering the strength of the sea and seeking a place in the universe for herself.

They had already experienced the world and its profound beauty, and settled down in the lush forests, as retired musicians making musicals--canning jams and listening, as Artemis complained nearby and a furry pet named Tut sat patiently, judging a chattering young adult on perched surfaces: purring occasionally as she flitted about heckling the calm with obscure noises and silly dance move, or glaring at the mere notion of shared-attention...split between two entities holding royal titles. Artemis was forever trapped in nightmares; pulling away at dead-bolted doors and windows, as she fled a growing darkness in billowing threads. The deaths of infants surrendered for social norms--kept the soils of a lock-down facility...upturned with evil and sorrow, her heart buried beneath a White-Shield: charged as guilty...for being an orphan teenager surrendered at the gates of Hades. A title she now held deep pride in, unsure of who she’d be without such horrific memories crafting the less-apologetic and more-sensible parts of herself.

The Kind-Hearted Hunters had no children of their own but took personal interest in her journey, as a civic duty of sorts. The couple continued to open their home for Artemis: to come and go as she pleased. They had no implications to the fact that Artemis had been homeless on more-than-one occasion: sitting on a cement bench outside a public library...dignity stood in her way and kept such conversations from rising to the surface. Two women had attempted to break Artemis, whereas two other women--professionals holding gold crowns and kind smiles: had fished Artemis from a river of woe, asking a teenager what she wanted out of life--setting expectations for her to achieve one step-at-a-time; seeing the changes override a childhood fostered in terror and danger...agreeing with the Kind-Hearted Hunters that she were unfamiliar with doing the right thing whenever it came to protecting herself.

One day, she had shamelessly informed them that a gateway device had been destroyed from within: Artemis had possibly pirated music, but at what cost? She had defaulting in power and patience; strapped to a wall for a power source to complete stringent University homework. She displayed an interest in creating a device of gold from scratch--wondering out loud...if the challenge would, or could hold bigger opportunities when mastered properly. The Kind-Hearted Hunter known as Marv: openly admired her blind ambition and took her to observe a laboratory that offered the parts and courses needed...since she was preparing to transfer to a new University and had addressed concerns as to her abilities in filling their shoes as an entertainer of song and dance. The conversation resulted in settling on a time-efficient solution of buying a machine ready to go, and pretending the gift hadn’t been extravagant beyond anything she could ever afford on a whim with ease.

He had politely ordered a confused Artemis...to pick out whatever materials she needed for academic success--leaving the conflicted customer--wandering the rows of glowing apples; too-afraid to touch the things she felt were undeserving to an orphan...conditioned to believe for over a decade; that food, water and threads were a gift to be taken away at most minor infractions at the pin-drop of a swaying mood. Artemis had grown up a plebeian; a burden to a couple with a gambling addiction--their worries of losses, aimed as the faults of stress--guiding lucky numbers raining in rotations at the pull of a lever were painted unlucky; the will of their God was unforgiving when offering up reward to those weak enough to bet away endless fortunes--the distrust brought on by bad luck; taken out on two sisters...forced to suffer in silence, as they threw away tax-funded resources on the daily with unchecked ease.

The wandering thoughts of trauma; building a wall of disbelief that kept Artemis walking down rows in silence--her discomfort in a gift palpable. The Kind-Hearted Hunter had seen Artemis avoiding to touch the beautiful magic books lined with gold, and assured the teenage scholar that she deserved the best. Her grades had been in line with the head of a pack most days. Artemis had doubted herself so often; a lingering sadness swallowed every ounce of joy from the air in moments surrounding kind gestures. They left the brick and mortar with her a magic book lined with gold in hand, and Artemis was at a loss-for-words; on how to ever thank them for such a precious gift. She held deepening guilt for their many gifts of luxury; meant only to encourage her to move forward with studies. This notion of caring became clearly defined as truth with each earned degree or athletic accomplishment--Marv, Rindy and Mel...always proudly staying by her side: holding the line as Artemis pressed forward on a path of academic ambition, forever surprising her with the consistency presented...whenever life threw awful wrenches in unwritten plans. Artemis was okay with admitting fault in forgetting their promises of caring within rare moments of stumbling and missteps-- surprised to see their hands reaching downward, as she crawled from struggle to struggle...telling an abandoned orphan to take her time getting up, and to remember that they loved her for being true to herself.

Artemis now expressed disgust in falling for such a large con; when the University system had been toppled over by an operation called Varsity Blues--wealthy children cutting off their faces to paste their portrait over potential University athletes deserving of recognition and scholarship. She ranted about the dismantling of trust in the University system on a whole: pissed-off she had juggled grades, part-time employment working in a thankless food industry where elders questioned her skills in scooping beans and used foreign languages to insult the color of her skin. Only to have a leader give her the nickname "college", whenever there was something she didn’t do right--the hobby of micromanaging a studious laborer had been a pastime that still offended the hard-working parts of herself.

Now Artemis had proof it had all been thankless; a gaggle of goofy parents had cheated the system--paying adults to take tests so their party-going children could relax on the morals established by those like hers, forfeiting sleep for part-time employment and strict athletic work-schedules, in trade for partial tuition and a chance to pull an entire bloodline into the sphere of higher-education as a first generation student. The cheapening and authenticity of her University experience had been so removed from the one experienced by the Kind-Hearted Hunters when they had sought academic glory as teachers-of-education, and defaulted to a career as worldwide pop-stars by purposeful accident. They often exchanged glances and stopped everything in moments where Artemis grew in rage; pairing up to swaddle the disheartened scholar with hugs, to dwindle flames of anguish with their inconsolable distrust in vulgar language, asking for her to try softening articulation or revised wording...if anything: to use as later date in their absence. The tools given by parents...worried for a child that hadn’t been taught the value of direct language and off-putting volumes--the irrational concerns had been amplified by a moody Viking--instructing her to hustle in the early hours, and occasionally holding debate in booming voices on socioeconomic topics that didn’t include him the slightest. She was forever conversation adjacent to the wealth of the Kind-Hearted Hunters; having to prove that assimilation could be seen as tool of opportunity...if equipped properly with a steady hand; resulting in Artemis willingly ripping her heart into two. She had placed the memory of a criminal infant in a closet at the end of a spooky hall, the world had never truly cared to understand or ask of the truths and trauma that held up the framework of a ghostly woman...half-alive; destined to abandon the parts of the past no longer served herself.

The Sirens that had gotten away with their crimes of plagiarism, bribes, and stolen-opportunity had giggled and held parade and press-conferences to discuss their severe crimes...almost unscathed, but the scheme left many of them to be plagued in well-deserved reputations; their nourished skin bruised upon wrists from fifteen stern lashings and a perp stroll holding a label of criminal for a short period of time. They had been forced to publicly denounce their own children, and received less-than two weeks... incarcerated by the swift hands of justice--forced to admit their lack-of-faith in the intellectual abilities of their offspring when stepping into prominent arenas; filled with academic gladiators. Public humiliation wasn’t a fair-enough ruling to someone like Artemis; she had survived a sentence of death as retribution for the sins of two absent parents...the oddity of surpassing their education levels and striving for more: meant, she couldn’t ever relate to the stories of spoiled little-bitches--claiming to not-know that they had been recruited to Ivy League University sports programs miraculously falling into slots of admission and without try-outs...their ability to play stupid and lie on the witness stand were inconceivable to someone as patriotic, athletic and hard-working as herself.

Artemis would roll her eyes while coping in dire belief of their light sentencing, and knew the Sirens had no understanding of reality and pale privilege; their lives had been painted gold with gaudy lies, catered by people just like Artemis. She had personally known...women that had stabbed people for stealing their shoes and lesser offenses in her time as a teenager criminal, and it made her giggle--thinking of how those old inmates would respond...had they felt these Sirens had stolen hundreds of thousands of opportunistic services from their them, or their children--the confounding boundaries of disrespect came with severe punishment when tested by unbridled entitlement. A reality-check couldn’t come soon enough...a few handfuls of parents had been gathered and chained; hushed by way of pride and advice from legal representatives...ceasing endless squawking and shrinking in stature when an honorable Judge reminded them...that their wealth would serve them little-to-no-good in an incarceration system plagued with its own corruptions. Artemis had lost faith in their Justice system many, many moons ago...but she took in a deep breath of relief, at the idea of these celebrities wearing matching robes of shame--whilst pretending to remain better than their earned surroundings and that thought alone brought her mild amusement, comfort and ease.

Her family enjoyed such heated conversations--occasionally asking for cited sources when the topic sounded too-ridiculous to be real, and particularly enjoyed...situations that brought forth the angered tides of social injustice, armed with more questions than accusations in moments where missteps had dire consequences. Artemis never felt the need to hide a violent tone, or worry about clashing words brought about in topics worth debating, they never held her at arms length in disregard to choppy moods and the toll chronic pain took on her ability be grumpy, or shut down when situations of unfair-ruling posed disbelief on the misfortune gifted and bestowed upon only herself.

One day Artemis approached a crowd; a small city had formed a militia to seek the truth--wondering why a prepubescent couple had been under violent attack by an unknown stranger; hiding behind an unknown number. The bombarding of threats upon children had come to light; a daughter seeking help from outside her home as a last resort...a principal reading the words meant to cause harm. He set up press-conferences for the world to hear...repeating threats verbatim--a stranger asking...nay, demanding a young girl to kill herself and telling a boyfriend to break up with this girlfriend and the next. A twisted tale of a predator hiding behind the label loving mother introduced the world to a woman named Kendra--scrambling about at all hours of the day...needing to remove any obstacle that posed a threat to her infatuation with a minor. The woman had stood on a world-stage in a last desperate bid for attention; fresh produce thrown in her direction whenever she attempted to downplay her role as the worst kind of stalker, an abuser of children--even proposing to paint the world to be...just as evil and twisted as her, if not worse: when the citizens chose to drive chariots under an intoxicated spell. Nothing could hold up the weight of a cursed mirror that Kendra kept hidden away from herself.

Who needed parents when people like Kendra existed? Maybe Artemis was better off alone--if that had been an authentic look into what life would be like under the wing of a selfish mother standing watch over a coveted table...verbally assaulting her own child and another as a sick hobby, cowering with bad-posture near a copious amount of glass bottles holding poison and claiming the crimes were beyond her control. Whatever the fuck that meant. Artemis walked on stage; barely stopping herself from decking protruding teeth in a moment of weakness. The woman was openly weeping--clamoring to blow a whistle that signified dander or interruption; concerned on the bleeding stitches of public-opinion pulling away and gathering upon the surface layers of her skin--the pure disbelief...that people dared to question her motives in parenting technique, when threats of self-harm aimed at the head of a fourteen year old daughter: had been blasted out to the world to witness. The woman was cursed to relive moments of terror--pleading upon guilty knees that the public moved swiftly past the disgusting illicit content thrown upon a child--claiming the words had carried all common-sense and reasoning far-and-away from: projecting anger that they cared more about the words said at children, than the comforts provided upon herself.

Artemis threw the woman into a room painted with a depressing shade of eggshell; allowing a daughter free reign to visit, and proving that the creep had done it all, as a bid for attention from a fourteen-year-old boy. She had walked off to join BamBam upon a hometown stage; contented with learning new routines and dancing by myself--when the world became bleak and sleazy. Artemis could do little to help a teenage daughter find stable footing; and instead built a black-and-white simulation that kept a motherly figure trapped in ill-intent, holding a piece of visual literature labeled with only the title Birthday Book for safekeeping and timed stamps...complete enough: minus a single page. Kendra had been captured and paced a cell; pushing away countless visitors claiming to be one of her two daughters, when in fact they were said two-daughters...the lady falling ill on every timeline with the introduction of portrait slapped on a wall by Artemis. Pissed off beyond comprehension, weary in disbelief by a fatigued daughter and loyalty that was unfamiliar to an orphan...waiting for the perfect moment to set a stage; complete with static curtains and a misguided criminal--a personality disorder left without proper aide had built a set cast ablaze by a predator that had only eyes upon an earned prize. The sins of a pedophile hiding-in- plain-sight had no power over Kendra’s sense of personal-accountability; a sentence of legal punishment had done little-to-no damage toward the outward views of herself.

The world came in droves to protect two daughters; armed with hugs and words of encouragement...Artemis reminding the crowds that the two young scholars in attendance to Kendras sick-shit; would need more nurturing by the public than most...words and advice wrapped with kindness--weapons aimed only at a perpetrator of violence. A room with three walls had brought the world together...disturbed at the words inked by predator caught mid-hunt, hollow words; claiming to love her daughters with the entirety of her motherly heart. People from all over the world...took turns walking up on stage...lecturing the woman and pointing anguished fingers past rude remarks. Agreeing that the loser had been a waste of space; for wasting public resources and being a fucking creep--taking an arm to cradle each child weeping at the sight of a mother screaming wild profanities and obscenities at a portrait placed near the image of an ex-boyfriend...lambasting insults while standing directly next to her "lost child"...pacing like a wild animal for over two years; eyes thrashing around dangerously, as Kendra hunted and pillaged a small town for the attention of an adolescent boy. The truth and timing were the only things that could break the daughters spell; to bring a kingdom of lies to shambles...without the timeless fashion choices of bonnets and religious jewelry casting excuses for a female predator. Artemis could easily paint a portrait of Salem; where a mother accused a "God-less" daughter of misbehaving and deemed a witch in public forums...the same faces of a small village holding stake and flame...offering the sacrifices of an early death to bid well...the wishes of a pervert--unaware of the gross goal to rid life of any and all the obstacles that stood in the way of romantic intent...with a child. The world had fallen out of favor with time--Kendra thrown in sterile room; held captive to modern technology. Artemis had wanted to capture the severity of a mothers actions downplayed at first...to step aside and say "let her cook"--as the youths put it. Needing to archive a mother hissing and tossing restlessly in an obsession too severe to ignore; unaware that Artemis had crafted a simulation to build a pyre and incinerate any and all reasonable doubt, as to the authentic intent of a potential pedophile, and accidentally widening the range of scope...to include unprofessional men in places and offices of authority, as they haphazardly allowed a perpetrator to manipulate the scenario one last time; giving the mother access to build lies-upon-lies for Artemis to set ablaze as Kendra clawed away at a confused daughter with unchained ease.

Next Chapter: *[ X ] Artemis and the daughter of King Minos*