Artemis found new ways to hide hopeless fraught from the half-sibling nicknamed plain Jane. She sang of her own victories: transforming herself into a grey rock with a callous overtone and a blank stare. There wasn’t any need to goad a sibling--let alone prod at a person fleeing from a proper diagnosis of psychopath. Artemis was kind enough to mind her own business: unable to glean the title herself. Such irresponsible means to self-appoint an informal diagnosis of a stranger would only make things worse. Artemis stepped aside, allowing death to remain dancing behind Dianne’s eyes, as per the explicit guidelines given to the professionals. There was nothing left to salvage from a relationship built on shared trauma and unhappiness.

Artemis was impartial to the childhood robbed of comfort: reminiscent of the shambles and shards--of strange tales that she was left to collect whenever the topic of sisterly bonding surfaced. Artemis had always been alone; left to fend for herself in a cruel world. The release of fear-riddled adrenaline would cause Artemis bouts of mania; managing an introverted personality that sought interpersonal normalcy with others. Dianne’s choice to remain miserable, or wield a defensive mirror on a whim were the minimum of her pieced talents...she had been born to a con-man and a prostitute, after all.

Artemis recalled waking up to Dianne playing doctor while she was dead asleep, waking up while her body would expel urine. She was the only one Hera would blame, for refusing to object to such sick games while in "states of vulnerability". Her body would still force itself to vacate a hyper-vigilant bladder...even in adulthood; A Lyon could testify to such. Artemis had developed this as a trick as a young child, a visceral defensive mechanism that deterred a wicked sibling from fondling Artemis beneath white linens and nappies as a toddler. Dianne was disgusted by the mere prosing of urine, as it brought her shame in ways that could steal the very lies from her very lungs. Artemis had left bits of her own selfishness between paragraphs. Something was very wrong with the world. She deviated away from unending daydreams. and ran towards a path of healing in private--sprinting towards a family that hadn’t any room for such a dangerous human, and Dianne’s thematic choices in spreading unhappiness.

Artemis had felt the narcissist smothering her form afar with unnecessary words: “you look so skinny...look at those neck lines!”. She was nothing more than a doll--thrown listlessly into a box of discarded objects, but never forgotten. Artemis had scripted an entire manuscript around her escape from a tower of eugenic nightmares. In doing so, she trapped Dianne in a portrait labeled <;Death’s Game>;. Telling a Jury to ask about a time where Dianne and Athena had been left with corpse for days, one where dollish woman had been left sprawled out on a kitchen floor. Artemis knew the instance would give smoldering light to a buried flame, and bring glistening eyes that lowered and scanned their surroundings. Dianne would be unable to hide her fixation with death, and giddy longing to stand over a controlled environment where she alone was the executioner, judge, and jury--finally free to express the depth of her earned unhappiness.

Artemis had fixed her siblings crooked mask--apologizing for the inconvenience, and silently backed away from the beast. Artemis had mended the stained-glass tiles and gently set them back to their designated places with care--intentionally forgetting to mention the lopsided placement of the rebuilt mask. Dianne would be forever cursed with yelling her intentions to rooms of strangers, and throwing tantrum whenever they’d refuse to side with her form of self-implemented Justice. The sibling would rather waste away, as a mad-woman--than to admit that Artemis had rediscovered the actions of childhood crimes. Artemis had cast herself into a simulation as a NPC--of a woman without diagnosis and holding undeniable commonalities with a monster named Brophy. Much like the murderer of Dan, Dianne loved word salad, and thrived off the superlatives of others. The decisiveness of a bizarre, vague, and condescending lady could help paint a portrait of a scorned woman--that had hunted Artemis and her husband as pray, and had done so for fun. The aggressive woman was a beast of two faces, a love for attention and misery, and nine tails--tailing traits Artemis had always looked past. Dianne was an individual that colorfully blossomed in sinuous moments, longing to be declared as a victim.

"Venables...Robert...Venables..."; Artemis didn’t need to cry over spilled childhood tears, so she took action by summing up her fears in the span of a few Fustian sentences. The ornate and orotund pleas fell in droplets of rain--showering a city with unwanted attention. Artemis had set aside her own ambitions--laying traps and dispelling chants; echoing the desperate ditch-effort to gain a sense of reality while balancing the process of attaining the title of Master Scholar. Artemis explained more, as to “what happened” on their last visit--reminding the reader that Artemis had triggered substance abuse problems, and allowed the woman to adjudicate blame: holding title as "the family fuck-up", at the verdict of Dianne. She had a hobby of attempting to frame Artemis as wicked; unable to comprehend the woes brought on by the sorrowing sickness of chemically-endorsed unhappiness.

Dianne would always remain pleasant; clasping palms gently over one another; nothing could ever be "her fault", because Hera had said so. The convoluted sibling blamed her own awfulness on the "timing" of the situation, and laughed at the trivial information, as to Artemis’s open admittance in occasionally losing an uphill battle with a substance abuse problem. Artemis held up the initial plans to flee in the dead of night, reminding her nieces and nephews...that they were owed nothing...in this lonely, and fucked up world. Her middle sister was attempting to avoid apologizing after she had wished Artemis the gift of vagrancy. She had fled; tired of "jokes" where Dianne mentioned nobody would notice she were missing--assuming Artemis was isolated and unloved in her inability to fend off childhood unhappiness.

Dianne was a spitting image of the narcissist Hera: mirroring the pleasantness and dowdy appearance--a replica, all the way down to the stiff jokes about eradicating Artemis. The declamatory pandering, was voiced as the only "logical solution" to Dianne’s problems. A violent death was just another exploitative tile that was resonant in an objective carved out in early childhood. Its glistening opportunity and the protuberant dance in her eyes-- held up a mask of sociopathy: armed with the visceral excuse that "nobody had taught her better." Dianne was discomposed by the matter of being caught red-handed by Kenny, for her many, many missteps in apathy: he’d been present in a flickering moment of rage....having had seen her mask slip-away in the midst of a family argument. He listened calmly, as the woman he loved--easily twisted his words and perforated his opinion, to include an agenda of dehumanizing insults. Artemis would just agree with the hollowed words, remembering that she wasn’t allowed to upset Dianne in public: even if it was only in front of the audience of one. Artemis was left to usher and rile on her own success-- responsible in leaving an abusive situation, and attaining self-respect for herself; by silently weighing out and carefully parsing portions of "deserved" unhappiness.

Artemis was nothing more than a reposeful ghost--walking through life, and begging for the world to admit they saw her: rousing for proof that she still existed. In passing: she had ran into a moody Viking that bore the footprints of a Devil Judge, and he had accidentally turned her convexed life-path towards the direction of the Salish Sea. Artemis fled his vicious judgement out of tiresome disbelief that their marital-like arguments and resentments never seemed to end. Benumb to emotions, Artemis had walked herself to the brink of exhaustion: attempting to hang herself as a direct result of the mounting woe, fought off with each smile. The verisimilitude of her grief ended up disrupting the slumber of a gentle giant, a man claiming to be the dealer and pitboss to her unhappiness.

Artemis had only wanted to be loved by a man held in high admiration by anyone and everyone: longing to belong at his side as an equal. She hid herself away--in the rational fear of upsetting the unreasonable and violent rage of a middle sibling. Artemis was forever afraid to explain to the love of her life...that her own half-sibling--took joy in the infliction of pain and violence, unhealthily enmeshed and viewing herself as an ex-lover to a younger sibling. The woman projected expectations of a predator living through a victim, hiding behind the lack-of verisimilitude and clutching to her own life with haphazard exceptions. Dianne saw Artemis’s life to be a papered project; easily ripped or deleted at will. Such a twisted fate wouldn’t ever be wished upon her worst enemy, as the lowly existence painted a perverse and lonely type of unaddressed unhappiness.

Artemis spend her life creating elaborate ways to distance her life from the ill-intended woman: knowing Dianne was always on a mission to prove that her own existence was deemed as "less wicked" than Artemis. She lacked the standard social-cues needed to argue a motive of intent stretched over a cursed tapestry. Artemis feared the day...whenever a stranger gave Dianne the nod of approval she longed for so desperately. The shallow exhale was enough to blow out the tickled flicker of a candle, and just enough air to provide a simulation that provided a colorful overview of the premeditated actions taken by a distant stranger--wallowing with a death-march guiding each step. No one would be able to protect Artemis from such an unwell and distorted solution given to a person--content with the minimalism their own actions and unhappiness.

Artemis was only deserving of the death penalty at Dianne’s hand, and no one else’s. The hyperbolic flood-gates of accomplice in verbal agreements was inevitable when dealing with those with psychopathy: they often held Burke’s twinkle in their eye whenever they spoke of premeditated murder in the form of stray jokes or riddles. It was better than any narcotic; to be able to languish the truth; drawn from the hip and aimed with delight. The standard psychopath often hid away such malicious daydreams--finding resolution and agreement from whoever chose to aid and abet. Artemis knew better, so she strung up a tapestry with a careful hand; gently preparing a trap for the rising chance she were to end up laying on trail--her limp body dragged along a courtroom and her accomplishments being provided as to why Artemis had been cast as an dis-likable victim.

She was aware of the fact--that Dianne hadn’t always been attacking her consistently; sometimes she hid behind pretending that they were distant“friends”...or whispering angry judgments to Athena. Artemis corrected this error, by reminding Athena that she was gossiping with the stranger--complicit in bragging about how much of a “fuck up” their youngest sibling was. Eventually, Dianne would discard their niece Mama Bear with glee: baring her fangs and falling into hysteria after realizing that Athena held natural maternal instincts that she, herself hadn’t inherited. Dianne hated being cast as less of a woman; to those holding the accolade of a motherly figure, and Artemis had known such an event would pan out in the favor of Athena--believing she’d always step-in to protect a niece drowning in woes. That was the kind of person Artemis was...she allowed others to learn from their own mistakes, and stood quietly in her confused judgement: she was famous for being "cold-hearted", and a survivalist to the core. Artemis had wanted to be only reasons for which her own life was sprinkled with occasional unhappiness.

Artemis expressed forbearance in casting judgements--allowing her own opinion to be separated from regular families and their own vile shaded environments; exhorting the option for people to flourish in their own right. There was no family legacy evil-enough to absorb the might of those strong in will and prepared to do the right thing at all costs. Athena was her own entity...held far away from the evil words of Dianne. It was apparent that the middle sister hadn’t really invested in original thoughts...preoccupied with fulfilling the duties tasked to herself and routines. It was easier to grasp, steal, and borrow the interesting qualities of others--for someone as lethargic as Dianne. Artemis had walked away from Dianne: unable to excuse her talents leeching passivity from past anger, and manifesting a misconstrued narrative...a strange reality where the woman was forever the victim.

Artemis loved Athena beyond words. The way one admires their favorite athlete...except Artemis was blessed enough to be born into a world where she could stand close to such affluence in talents. She remembered the faces of the crowds-- standing in excitement when they watched their own children being surpassed by Athena’s light-footed speed. Her real name; had been "Runs-On-Clouds", but they had anglicized it at birth--in order to comfort the public of the dead-eyed savages. Artemis began cheering: trotting alongside a paved field and metal benches, rooting for the lithe woman as she moseyed through the crowds of other women putting it all on the line. She had grabbed Dianne’s arm in disbelief, shaking it with anticipation to their sister beating all the odds, and becoming immortal with an unprecedented silence and a ribbon breaking. It was a single moment where three siblings were victorious, but only two had broken past a tought ribbon--free from living in silent suffering, confusion and unhappiness.

Dianne wasn’t watching the race in the slightest, she seemed busy stalking a poor boy...famous for his laboratory and being a Son of the Law. Artemis registered the disappointment of the crowds, as they pointed their eagle eyes at a pack of young women sprinting for their lives, and Athena was leading the charge in her graceful boredom. The bored athlete had been asked by her coach--to try sprinting the entirety of the race: accused of being frolicsome, after she admitted to hanging back in another race in order to “feel cool”. Athena would hold a strange smirk when explaining her ability to ditch the pack of unaware of "competitors" along the curvature of a track. Athena had broke a record in her first attempt at trying in the world, and it was something that still made Artemis laugh: she had blissfully wasted her youth pestering Athena, questioning the idol, as to how it felt to be best at something. Artemis wasn’t the athlete she had wanted to be, there was always a sense of aggravation towards her physical limitations, and competitive edge that consumed her with unfulfilled expectations and unhappiness.

Artemis had the hobby of following the woman around--childishly wishing her awesomeness would rub off on her; by efforts found in proximity. Athena often shrugged to the crowds that clamored for a view of her broad shoulders pushing past the packs of youthful athletes. Nobody in their household saw the woman that glowed with an aura of gold...the outside world was too busy neglecting and abusing the woman that ran as light as a feather. Athena was tired and unenthusiastic to her own ground-breaking achievements, since running was one of many outlets used in escaping her indescribable pain. Athletic talent had saved a woman from drowning in shifting moods and an unspoken unhappiness.

Artemis looked at Athena in her witness stand, asking that the jury to give her a minute to ask a series of approved, and unbiased questions. For whatever reason, Athena rarely listened to Artemis...only utilizing the chances as a result of arriving at her wits end. The apogee of trusting patience only came, whenever Athena was at a loss for words; as to what she should do--with her many children that casually ran amok. Artemis had to reserve her minuscule observations, and tallying diagnosis of Athena possibly suffering from early-onset alzheimer’s to herself. She’d sigh with overwhelming sadness; knowing that Athena would never expunge the details of severe head injuries attained throughout the young adulthood of a woman born to sit upon a throne of unprotected, unhappiness.

Artemis said less--hiding the suggestion in the past, and allowing the cards to fall where they may. Artemis was a paper doll, and Athena surviving a life where each decision could collapse her delicate house of cards. She would raise a brow in amusement--listening to Athena bombard her with a handful of questions to the occasional accusations as to her own “unapproachable” demeanor. Athena hated being judged on a professional level. The things Artemis had once warned her "wouldn’t fly" in the real world, were all things she heard long after-the-fact somehow. This instance was no different. She asked that Mama Bear hold her shield of a book up once more, so that Artemis could read her sister one last poem. A poem meant to help break the character of a hardened woman, raped and stripped of her person hood as a teenager. A poem that would help prove that Athena was nothing more than a fall-guy to homicide. She was simply the poor asshole--cast in a role that was the easiest to frame, and the only one who’d rather risk the penalty of death, than to admit that she was somehow a victim.

Artemis said “I am so sorry we are your family, and I would give anything to see you run again.” Artemis held back tears knowing that Athena was trying hard to ignore her words of kindness by aversion of eye-contact. The tears of embarrassment in being ignored flowed anyway: even when she re-edited her words, time and time again. Artemis wept in mere thoughts of pity she felt for the tortured woman buried under the title of mother. “I need you to tell them where you were during those days sister, or else they’re going to take away your kids forever...they will take away everything.” Athena probably stared at nothing, avoiding the truth she felt down to the marrow in her mortal bones. “They’ll take away your beloved raspberry sister.” Her affinity for the youngest of her children--would be the only thing that could lasso Athena back into reality and break a stubborn spell of hopeless unhappiness.

Artemis swept her hand in the direction of a Jury that was afraid of the woman that hated to be looked upon. "I did this all for you...look what I turned in to...". Artemis sighed, and slowly turned away from the woman born without shame on most days. Athena was deprived of body heat due to her low iron levels, and a lack of lithium that could help her think clearly: her festering misery was plastered across her scorned face--seeping into the depths of her soul. The contents of a few pictures were so horrific that Athena could convince herself that reality wasn’t real--because she was unwilling to admit the world would provide her with a new depth of sorrow, unable to comprehend the testaments of those that refused to excuse her state of unmediated unhappiness.

Artemis glared at the strangers sitting in a Jury. “I don’t want these kids to ever be in the same situation we were thrown into, as no human deserves to be raped, let alone gang-raped by those that that are paid to foster children.” Artemis still felt immense guilt in telling Papa Jim of Athena’s threats to hurt her: the snitching lead to Athena being kidnapped in the early morning, and thrown into a den where "adults" had once told a teenage Athena “Happy Birthday”--celebrating her existence by getting her drunk and trafficking the teenager to violent men that willingly gang-raped her. The citizens, and jury had paid for this crime to occur themselves: they had taken their spare change from the pockets of their robes--throwing it at the woman that served as State-funded pimp. Athena was unable to admit what had happened to her...unless it was written out in black and white: forever the lost child, a woman that was never apologized to by anyone, other than that of the overwhelming empathy of Artemis. Athena was technically pretty polite, for someone that truly resented the idea of being called a victim.

Artemis had spent her young adulthood attempting to make reason for the scary shadows upon a wall; those of harmful people, standing in the direct lighting of a fire kindled by hope. She had passed through a gateway of experience, where child abuse was normalized--where abuse of her as a person was rewarded. Dianne would always be left vying for the approval and protection of Hera, or needing to defend inscrutable tactics in parenting. Artemis had known Dianne to be a precocious child, and Hera had always awarded her with accolades or cheered on such hedonistic "children games." There reached a point in the journey--where Artemis realized that Dianne and Hera were undifferentiated in their personalities, and that an entail of such relationship(s), would extend the probabilities of her being left isolated on a path; a woman free from traumas and unable to stand in a dark cave of childhood unhappiness.

A wise and kind stranger had once told Artemis of a memorable quote in passing: "It’s better to be a Warrior standing in the middle of a garden...than to be a gardener--standing amidst a war." The bulked words; were those that Artemis and Athena had lived by, prepared for the defensive...subject to be drafted into the worst of scenarios on a whim. Three Sisters: one holding two barrels, to double-down on luck and laugh in the face of danger, Athena; holding scope and reasoning to protect those she loved, and Dianne--holding intimate judgement with any weapon. Such small fragments of truth; could present a Jury with a better understanding, as to how Artemis became a feature standing in a garden of tombstones. A single poem could cast reasonable doubt on a spell of lies, and provide forgiveness as to Athena--a woman committed to such tortuous unhappiness.

Artemis had wanted to spare Mama Bear from the truth of why her mother knew the things she did-many strong men had died upon acclimatization outside of the cave of orphan hood. Artemis needed the self-centered teen to find out the hard way...as to why her mother introverted deep, deep within herself--until her thought process resembled a black hole, with no point of exit. “I am so sorry that happened to you.” These were words she had already told Athena personally. Athena had heard none of it, because Dianne had shrugged when she heard the story of horrific details: their middle sister held a gaping mouth and excitedly dancing eyes, hearing how Athena had deserved the gang-rape given at the expense of tax-payers. It took a special kind of wicked to smile at the expense of such horrific child-abuse, and an simple example as to the many ways Athena had left the cave of trauma behind--expecting nothing out of life, and silently accepting her role in the world as a hardened and forgotten victim.

That was the kind of woman Dianne was, jealous of all stories that trumped her own limited experiences. She’d be jealous of the trials in spirit that she didn’t even want to be part of--subverting tales that outweighed her own “traumas”: often acting as though they never happened at all; clasping her clawed hands together in a calm rage. Artemis knew better. She painted Dianne shades of grey, and allowed the jury to observe the woman she had grown to fear. Athena would probably look uncomfortable by the idea of her childhood trauma being written down in court minutes, but Artemis had the upper-hand “you deserve to be seen and heard sister, I’m here to help you--just let me help you”. Her hands shook with aggress to the details provided. Artemis needed for her sister to care--if only for one day. Her anxiety grew by the moment, as though she could wake the woman up from her lethargic spell of hating the world with a tone of caring understanding. Athena would stare blankly into the past, daydreaming about a cave filled with endless darkness--learning that it was easier to accept fate, and to let go of any anger that came from being overlooked as a victim.

Athena was a mere mortal, but nobody ever seemed to see her as such...unless she was running for her life, and entertaining the citizens with marvelous athletic talents. Artemis saw her. She loved Athena beyond all words. Enough to write a book on her behalf...on their behalf, as to intentionally prepare for the day when Dianne framed Athena. Their lives were not meant to be gawked at, but at last...that’s all anyone in this stupid country ever did. The citizens had the same sicknesses of Dianne: fixating on people as forms of property, and falling ill to their own gluttony--desperate to find shallow solutions for an unaddressed unhappiness.

Artemis had shown Athena a picture of Orion upon their last visit, and Athena seemed excited--that her littlest sister was enamored by someone...other than herself. It was a valuable lesson, and it reminded her to never show the pictures of Orion to Dianne: knowing she was obsessed with stealing things from Artemis--in a fashion that was beyond unhealthy. Athena said “awww how cute...he’s cute.”: Artemis blushed by the idea that Athena approved. She nodded her head in agreement, holding his picture to her chest and sighing in joy that he had found her: hoping that she could find a way to Fix It to Break It. Athena had nothing but permissive compliments for a sibling that proclaimed illness in unending woe, as it meant Artemis was attempting to find cure for a mending unhappiness.

Artemis knew from that exact moment along the seaside...that she wanted to marry the man that brought rosiness to her silly grin. Athena sure hated a lot of things, but Artemis was not one of them. Artemis saw her sisterly blessing to be as valuable to that of three people. She’d never discourage Artemis from pursuing a better life, or the reaped happiness she occasionally stumbled into. Athena took pride in watching Artemis reach for the unattainable, and she took amusement in the fact the self-serving woman chose to trade it all-- for the love of one man. Her stern lack of verbal judgement, meant that she wished to throw Artemis past her own goals: casting her into the night skies to dance with the stars...if only to take part of a journey that offered a happy ending for another. Athena would manage to be the bigger man in most rooms, simply because her bitterness was often turned inwards--since her own life had been saturated with turmoil and unhappiness.

Artemis had wanted Athena’s children to learn things by themselves, as she saw how dangerous their own childhood had been. The darkness of faithless ignorance had left them each drowning upon land. Artemis would always be that girl cheering on her eldest sister--remembering Athena tripping in the home stretch, and crawling to the finish line. "We got this! You’re gonna do great!" Artemis had wanted to jump over a railing, and lift the woman back onto her swift feet. Instead, she began encouraging an athlete-well ahead of the pack. "It’s ok." Athena crawled along the last one hundred meters, managing to attain notoriety because luck gave a race away that day. People always noticed whenever Athena didn’t show up for herself, whereas...Artemis could go missing for days before anyone fucking cared. Athena was so loved by the world, and Artemis was barely loved by Athena. Both women--equated failure with earned unhappiness.

Brooks women didn’t really have the luxury of giving up. Artemis and Athena had felt that understanding from an early age, whereas--Dianne had been taught to just to lurk in the corner, and to steal the spoils of war from others. She’d ignore a starting line, if it meant the chance to make fun of those that were deemed the losers. Hera had taught her such "values", and it showed by the way the jury had been easily swayed by the “pleasant enough” woman...pretending to be utterly distraught. Artemis had laughed, knowing they’d feel uncomfortable--the second they saw how shrill and demanding Dianne was in her natural essence. There was no way to mask such unending jealousy and commitment to unhappiness.

Would they find her stares unnerving? Would they see the shift in demeanor-- when others didn’t instantly do as she demanded, or would they play-along with her games filled with violent delight? Artemis giggled, “it’s way scarier than anything you can imagine”: the woman had spent her life holding up a facade of normal-ness, backed by the accomplishments of those she surrounded herself with. Athena was openly angry, and Dianne was barely able to compute emotions that fell outside of her comfort zone of teacherly helpfulness. The middle-sibling; hated when people pitied or praised her older and younger sister...because it proved that she was unremarkable by choice. Artemis was tall in her confidence; Athena tall in her exceptional abilities, and Dianne chose to be small; needing only--to measure the role and title as an undeniable victim.

Athena had taught Artemis how to crawl to the finish line and accept temporary defeat, holding a third place award with a grin--that magically painted the award itself golden for its memorability. Athena had once tripped while being so far ahead of her pack of “competition”, that Artemis was inspired to accept a fate standing behind greatness in a cheerful and spirited awe. That was the kind of woman Artemis wanted to be. She was memorable in her efforts, and able to laugh at the attempts that occasionally went awry. Failure wasn’t something to fear, and it didn’t threaten her successes with ribbon-ed undeserved unhappiness.

Somewhere out there in the world, was visual proof, as to the inexplicable talent of Athena and her swift feet; If there was a God or Gods...than they had loved Athena more than most. Artemis had crafted a poem to help find the snippets and shittily-cast images. The world deserved to see how much Athena loved to be free, and it would help her in admitting innocence from whatever bullshit she was being accused of. The woman of a "zillion" crazy babies, was once a star athlete...placed on the fast track to the Olympics. Athena was supposed to be an Olympian, just as Artemis was supposed to be the first Federal Indigenous Warrior to operate a false sub-orbital star. Now Athena was being accused of homicide: her sins in judgement being cast by strangers, something that’d probably bother Athena--since she was occasionally agreeable to a fault; in her choices enabling a human filled with violent despair and irrational ploys. Athena would rather be punished and left the fuck alone: free to be, and fill the dramatized role of the talented-beyond-words, silent and brooding victim.

The jury seemed conflicted, but the evidence would outweigh the “logical” story Dianne had painted. Athena knew who she was--in terms of accountability, and Dianne was in denial that she was even a person...on her best days. You can’t convict someone that believes their own lies, and that’s all Dianne had: lies, as to why she stood firmly in a position of moral fortitude--breaking laws as she saw fit, as Athena stood in front of a shadow-laced wall, unable to deny requisite intention. Artemis would be the solution to a woman’s pyre of mounting unhappiness.

The jury thought to themselves “why wait so long to clear Athena of the charges?”, and Artemis began to laugh in a jarring way-raising an eyebrow and small clasped hand over her mouth. The jury now knew of her many types of laughter, and so she could write freely in explaining her mania induced by trauma. Her laughter was often confusing to someone unsure of unprotected joy--because sound fell freely from a woman that loved laughter, from a person unable to admit a future where they’d fall back into the vulnerable position--of being called an untruthful or deserving victim.

"I’ve met Cindy, and her son Christopher--I saw how the world easily shit on a woman laying ass-up in a shallow grave." Artemis had wanted to make sure Hera wasted funds and time; traveling to protect Dianne one last time. She grinned and crossed stubborn arms; peering over a stuck-up nose at the idiot woman that had a gambling problem and lived solely off credit. Hera lived for moments in the spotlight, and she’d been preparing a statement of impact for public viewing--since Artemis was about four years old. When "jokes" about children disappearing began. When an adult decided to unburden her marital issues upon a child, instead of reporting the perverse issue that Hera hid away. It was easier to be jealous of a molested child, than to admit Artemis had been a survivor of sexual abuse--let alone a victim.

Artemis found the woman to be pathetic, and had wanted the woman and her methods of child abuse--to be a daunting subject that was unveiled to an unknowing Jury...to serve as evidence, of the twisted world Artemis had fearfully ran away from. The woman would gladly commit perjury; if it meant that she could brag of her maternal rights to Artemis’s legacy. There was no reason for a dead person to claim belongings from a grave, and Hera was eager to prove that the entitlement of knowing Artemis as a toddler--meant that claims of child abuse would be void, without evidence, to the words of a widow; using her past crimes as a platform to cast a spell of undermining unhappiness.

Artemis crafted a poem to preserve the fringes of her memory, blanketing herself in the truth, and accepting that she had been dealt a hand of cards, splaying a deck that was ruled by surviving physiological torture, and neglect at the hand of an ugly lady with red hair, and a mole that had its own face and hair. Artemis didn’t like excuses. The jury thought “do you really hate her that much?”, and Artemis nodded and said a short reply in an Athena-like tone, that was unnecessarily loud and blunt “Yes. Fuck that lady." She had nothing by disdain for a person able to nullify child abuse with the excuse of mid-life unhappiness.

The crassness of such words would mean that Athena would probably raise her eyebrows--in amusement to the honesty Mama Bear projected with her occasionally timid voice. Artemis had taught her niece the skill of purposefully tossing ones hair aside, and saying ewww with a single glance. Both women had learned the power of the truth--from watching Athena over the years. She’d occasionally say "thank you"--as though it was obvious, or she’d say "no" in a way that accidentally sounded threatening, and "yes" with a sharp look--whenever she’d rather not elaborate. They had been forced to live in that fucked up childhood house for far too long, and Artemis was the only one that had left their “home” without any intentions of ever returning to it. Artemis would’ve burnt that fucking haunted double-wide to the ground years ago, but Dianne was still living in it--emotionally...and evidently arson was against the law. Artemis would throw both of her hands up in a sarcastic retort to the notion--that such a simple action could collect the fringes of her unending unhappiness.

Artemis chose to be endlessly annoyed instead, because she valued the freedom of existing outside the house with its invisible bars, and far from the range of the abusive hands--of the woman that had been paid to foster them by the tax-payers. Artemis had needed time for her fellow readers to throw information at the jury, and a stupidly long book was her best bet when dealing with laziness. It wasn’t hidden, it was in plain sight whenever you searched her name: both sisters knew of its existence, but only Mama Bear cared to return to its ugly pages. Artemis knew Dianne wouldn’t care to read it, if she knew it was about the travail of Artemis and such traumas. Athena would always stick to her beloved stories of moving stills and stalls of trampling horses. She was forever an angry woman, safe in a turgid cocoon of unbothered unhappiness.

The jury asked “why would she do such a thing”, referring to the heinous crimes of Dianne. Artemis shrugged: “she probably thought that kissing Orion, meant I was a place mark for whatever fucked-up fantasy she had planned for “them”." Grandeur and obsession were traits of Dianne from an early age, anyone would testify to that. Her dangerous eyes and snarl would be all that she allowed the world to observe, the privation of her morals would be hidden well-beneath a handful of scenes, meant to cast her center stage. Even in the shadows, she was a woman of pleasures unmet, and sadistic tendencies. There was nothing to bring pleasure to a fleeting shadow of a person, outside of disappointment and deserving unhappiness.

Artemis knew her sister was a demon of selfishness and glutton, but she hadn’t any proof to the levels of her sordid depravity. Dianne loved the darkness of their pitiable childhood cave, and avoided being screened or evaluated at extreme costs. Dianne had often said--she never considered Artemis to be one of her sisters, but more like a cousin that her and Athena had to deal with. How meticulous the words had been chosen for decades. Most words were half-truths, revolving around her bombastic take on mundane experiences, and benumbed to the horrific situation. Dianne wasn’t sure that she was a person, and that key factor in itself...somehow made her above the law. There was no way to argue with a woman holding the eyes of a caged beast named Stephanie, as such a monster would gladly become Lazarus; if it meant the chance of killing their prey twice. Anything to lessen the pain of such misery, such unrequited unhappiness.

Athena had just been the easiest to pin it upon, because she was endlessly filled with rage that felt like a thousand suns...on the better of days. Artemis often made her angry with intent; by pestering her with questioning, as to if she were hungry--left to decipher the silence of the woman stewing in boredom. Making illy-timed jokes; was how Artemis coped with being uncomfortable, and Athena often glared at the idea that her younger sibling never had to grow out of such quirky personality traits. Artemis was the mixture of both her sisters personalities, but whenever she had thoughts of violence or unnatural reasoning like Dianne, she alerted professionals. Like a fucking normal adult. Artemis had felt every wound so profoundly, that she often had enough worry to spill tears on behalf of a world that didn’t deserve the immeasurable pain of such true unhappiness.

The world deserved to be inspired, the way Athena had always done for Artemis. She had once asked her sister how she felt after her pregnancies, and Athena admitted they had changed her forever: as though each one had softened harsh edges or threaded reason into an aimless world. The capacity to love--had stripped away at the hopelessness they had been born with. Even at her weakest, Athena would comfort her, by reminding her that the spine issues were just a trial for childbirth: they could respect one another because they both shared a common goal--to find love with a family of their own making. They valued life and sought after the value in fending off their trauma-induced unhappiness.

Artemis had always wanted a family to love...to observe and help by example, and Dianne had always said weird shit like: “I can’t wait to have a kid that I can control.” She’d be annoyed at Artemis for correcting her instantaneously, as that’s obviously not a normal reason to bear children. Dianne was eponymous with selfishness and her lack-of-reasoning...two things that are needed to hold up to maternal expectations. The single year-and-a-half of age difference--meant Artemis and her existence were “less than”, and Dianne often sought out to publicly prove such an absurd point. Her misery was contagious to the extent of seeping over into of others opinions, and embroiling the easily persuaded; to agree with perpetuating such vile unhappiness.

It left Dianne being cast as an odd autocratic character, and openly being questioned for her obvious words of harmful nature. She was always outcast by the range of her own words, annoyed that the questioning to her wording came from anyone but Artemis. She already knew Dianne was preparing to strike a plan of attack in the future, a Just punishment--for being the one Hera still cared for: when Artemis could fucking care less. This was why Artemis judged the two women, as the epitome of female ugliness at their worst--stroking the illustration to portray how they were confused humans at best. It was a personal choice they had both made, blaming everyone and everything else for their sublimated unhappiness.

Artemis left Athena a personal note, one for the days she may feel lonely, or missed a companion that cared about her health. Even in death--Artemis needed to prepare those she loved, for a life without her in it. Cultivation of the flames of enlightenment was such a strange use of life-resources. She couldn’t picture such convoluted circumstances, but she knew it was drawing nearer by the hour: a clock of darkness ticking ominously in the back of her thoughts at all times. Words fell urgently, and Artemis sprinted back to perfect the trail meant to be covered up instantaneously with the turn of a page. Everything in their cave of sorrow needed to brought to life; if it meant Athena was free to exist outside of a cage. Artemis had the intent to prove the many ways Athena had cared for a slain victim.

She worried Athena would forget that she had once brought a woman named Chris into their lives: the golden-haired heroin--dove head first into flames unending, saving the two children at once. She had wrapped an arm around each crown, needing to protect the softest part of their bodies. Artemis would create a lifeline of character witnesses that’d prove Dianne’s illusion of their childhood...reaching far-beyond the distance of the house they had ran away from. Only Dianne remained in the window of a haunted home: reducing herself to cruel violence out of boredom, and her need to fight the title of victim.

Chris knew nothing of Dianne and "her character", nor did Artemis’s main advocate in the courtrooms: Julie. Artemis said words of soft sternness-- meant to remind Athena of their shared respect for strong women: directing her words to a sister gazing aimlessly at the floor in front of her…“This isn’t your job, she’s not your child. She will never object from hurting your children if you take the fall for this.” Artemis knew Athena hadn’t been exposed to Dianne’s astounding wickedness in a long time, and she probably forgot how irrational and elongated her decided hunt was. “She hates women. Your kids don’t deserve to spend the rest of their lives listening to that shit. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, and she won’t’ tell me.” Even in death: Artemis was attempting to figure out the two women that she had once been locked in a room with. “I am so proud of you for getting up, and I hope that the accomplishments in my career are proof that you alone...inspired me to do great things.” Artemis lived in a reality--where people constantly asked about her athletic talent, and then they carelessly tossed her aside...once they saw she wasn’t half-as-talented, as Athena. Artemis accepted fame in the talents of being mildly-athletic, to blaze a mediocre trail with dignity and unending expectations for improvement. Artemis used many books, and love of curiosity--to hide her fears and insecurities. The mounting notoriety had been a way for Artemis to distract the world from her mischance in being born hopeless and casually drowning in bored unhappiness.

Artemis knew it wasn’t the adding of information to the trial that’d change Athena’s mind, but the accumulation of data--that her youngest sibling had stored away for a "rainy day". Artemis looked around and smiled "Bitch, its rainin." Even as an adult, Artemis would crawl all over Athena in a loose blanket--needing attention and cuddles from a cold lady. Cushioned-and glistening cheeks could display her comfort in sitting upon the lap of a woman that forgot Artemis saw her as a Titan, a Goddess walking amongst mortals. Artemis was forever content with a protective sibling, forever turning into a grey rock--held at arms length; ready to let Athena love her--if it meant starving away at her unfed unhappiness.

Athena occasionally forgot that her youngest sister was known for her militant tact even as a child, and for using proper outlets to protect herself and those she loved with an ease. It would take the isolation of personal questioning to break Athena, as seeing the face of her little sister one last time in inks of black and white, may be the only way to break a spell of stultified anguish. Artemis crinkled her nose, reminding Athena that her son had small traits that were earned in early development. The brevity of displaying ones true emotions was something Athena feared. “I’m really sorry that I’m not going to be around to see the kids grow up.” Artemis was crying once more--because she hated the idea of whatever poisoning memories Dianne was already preparing. She assumed the idiots that lived through the word of a bought-and-paid-for journalistic industry, would prove that even the most vitriol, perverse, and horrific murder--would still relinquish Artemis from the rights reserved for those being called a victim.

Artemis had once heard a story; in which a kind Lyon and Dianne were friendly with a man that went on to commit homicide. The moment was reserved to process the information; and to behave accordingly to the fragile environment. Artemis had said something unforgivable, as a concerned person; ready to be painted as rude or abrasive. She had said something along the lines of "I’m sorry to hear that’s happening to you, and I’m glad you guys are ok." Artemis had committed a crime beyond crimes; by telling a Lyon of abnormal situation, and avoiding telling Dianne of a moment where a sibling was the tertiary victim of a slain best friend. Artemis had lied--knowing deep down that evil held only the semblance to mortals. She was a sibling, one of many now-adults, that survived a joke where drowning was seen as play-fighting. This was the dimension where Dianne had come out of a room untouched and holding up a perplexing smile. To be painted gold by a Guardian; meant a life where open-ended responses and chaotic trails of misled stories and scenarios occurred. The configuration of a novel and strange personality--given authority to remain a perpetual victor and or, victim.

Artemis knew that Dianne would revile in the chance to conciliate the role of custodial guardian to a few nieces and nephews; being forced to mother Athena’s children--pft, that would be the icing on Dianne’s fucking cake. The braggadocios words would be unending, as she’d get to boast of how both sisters didn’t deserve to belong in "her world"--for one reason or another. Even in isolation from Athena and Artemis; Dianne would find a way to steer directly into the misery provided by any chosen inconvenience that threatened her prized unhappiness.

Dianne could complain and ridicule her nieces and nephews--without worry of proper judgement, publicly using them as verses in proclamation to “how normal” she was. Dianne had learned the skill of diversion from Hera: pretending to be a mother--believing it could help make her more “likeable”, a martyr to be admired without contest. Artemis had the immature curse of blindly believing in people, and she had filed away Dianne--as a person worthy of her respect and kind words. To be cruel: meant saying the words needing to be said, even if they were scary upon the surface. Artemis had warned her niece of Hera; calling her a bad person...cementing a few words with a worried tone that cautioned a heavily-harbored sense of unhappiness.

Dianne refused to admit that Artemis was a person, because it meant that she was held to the same legal system as everyone else. It meant Hera had been wrong in manipulating the law...she had been wrong in starving Artemis "for her own good", in the same capacity that Hera had been wrong forcing Dianne to remain stationary by threats; forced to eat, and eat. Artemis had witnessed the forced feeding; trying to refrain from eye contact--sickened, by her own jealousy of a anthers abuse. Artemis remained starved, unlovable in replacement of the bottomless shame. Dianne remained disconnected from the standard normality found with a family. Both were still children; trapped in loveless home--chained to an abuser. The world was definitely big enough for more than one victim.

Dianne had planned that the jury would just take her word for it, as Artemis obviously didn’t deserve to be heard, or ever seen again. She had made sure of it with her direct actions, and then she had the gull to turn around and claim herself as some sort of grieving victim.

The jury was weary, but Artemis had more to say. She said “No. It’s something I can’t explain.” She painted an ugly tapestry of a male Mechanical Boar, and placed Dianne atop his hairy back: a woman held equal to the beast she rode through the darkness. Artemis knew the book and her fate went hand-in-hand; one saddled in paranoia, and the other amended by assumptions tied to the harmful words "That’s just how they are." Artemis had seen invisible writing upon a wall; by dipping her brain in sobered memories. The original seedlings of her golden words had been pulled from a stream of thoughts in tandem to the threats felt--whenever standing near a person living in denial to reality itself. Artemis had caught herself looping in clues and small details; wanting to prepare flanking of offensive defenders needing to focus a spectacle to remain dedicated to cast rule over the fate of an unnamed victim.

Hera and Dianne would be tethered for their ignorance and blatant racism, and notorious for their sex-filled dialogue. Their unique ability to ignore or deny the things they didn’t like--was beyond anything that other reasonable adults could mesh with. Conflated details, and meandering stories were aplenty. “There is a dangerous type of person; that picks out a new target, and nobody questions what it feels like to experience such targeted attention.” Artemis had told an adult about the game of holding ones breath in a river, and Hera had gave her look of disapproval--unable to comprehend the consequences of a child "sleeping to much", as a medical scenario that would require a standard check-up on waterboarded lungs. Artemis recalled waking up in vomit; the world had shook and woke her up in a nightmare. forced to change her sheets as she wept--a child living with crippling anxiety, unable to call herself a victim.

Artemis had spent her whole life being sexually objectified by Dianne, like the Boar had done to his daughter. There was nothing but distance that could cure such abnormal expectations in a family member. Artemis would point out the inappropriateness, and got in trouble for making Dianne "uncomfortable" for the mounting sins of pointing out social norms in front of others. The social contract of the world, and regular boundaries existed to everyone, everyone but Dianne. That’s how her mind worked: it probably needed the perverse parts of her words to be someone else’s fault--even with an entire army of others agreeing it wasn’t ok. The final resting placement of blame had been the first futile battle Artemis could remember. She had learned a long time ago: snitching on Dianne to Hera. Artemis had questions about her body, after a sibling woke her up with a hand in naughty place. Artemis was forever that insulted and confused child, realizing only Chanupa believed her tearful words. Hera would rather call her "story" disgusting...than to ask concerned questions, and seek answers that may otherwise prove that Artemis was nothing less than a victim.

Dianne didn’t like being humiliated, to be in possession of such knowledge would be more than enough of a reason as to why she “had to". It had been decided in their early childhood that the task of homicide was the only way to rid the world of the truths Artemis held deep within an empty smile. For whatever reason; she had grown comfortable existing alongside the common trauma. The West was forever number one, victorious in the wealth of sexually devious crimes and free to re-victimize the dead--dragging along an already-silenced victim.

Dianne’s meticulously-placed mask was forever shattered in hands of the gentle army of individuals that loved and cared for Artemis voluntarily. The mere awfulness of Artemis’s smile and the rude interjection meant for everyone and no one--was all it’d take to prove Mama Bear’s skill in mirroring the hopelessness Artemis provided the world. She was famous for saying unnecessary and unwarranted things like "My life’s awesome." This form of distant love was as sharp and useful as tool. It was a simple screwdriver, left abandoned and out-of-place, in an Odyssey about time-traveling and premonitions. Artemis would smirk to a shield of static; far beyond a grave... knowing she’d spent time crafting a sturdy character-witness roster to present testimony on behalf of Athena. The battle of couragious understanding was one Athena had witnessed and accepted; A world where Artemis struggled to survive through a cursed life--soaked in Spinal Catasrophism. She growled in face of pain itself; relearning how to walk every once in a while--unable to commit to the role of medical victim.

Artemis could throw off a mood of helplessness; swaying and saying silly poetic things like--"I did the right drugs; only at the wrong time.", or "Ima be fine, Ima be fine." Artemis was commited to catering to the emotion span of Athena, wondered if the woman sniffled her nose heavily leaning to the side (a trait that meant she wanted to cry, even though she’d been programmed to believe she didn’t even deserve her own tears). Her pent-up swelling of emotions often caused Athena immense pain, and uncontrollable outbursts of unhappiness.

Artemis pointed at the Boar she had caged and tucked out of sight. She felt stark--without remorse, pulling a man around by the tuft of his thinning hair. Artemis had marked a thin laceration behind a half-severed ear. She’d entered a contest on behalf of all the legit babies she’d miss: the nieces and nephews that remained babied forever. “I want you to have whatever comes from this fucking awful book sister, and you can’t do that if you’re locked away forever.” She’d sigh to herself; hiding behind pages and knowing Athena would never admit that Artemis understood anything about her particular brand of unacknowledged unhappiness.

Artemis had built up an estate--to ensure her family would live with all they needed to be successful. It was a simple as a handful of clues and forms for her niece to find and manage in the worst-case scenario. Insurance paid loss and damages for those lost to homicide, more than to those born sickly in physical health. Artemis held a fifty-fifty chance at succumbing to either. Athena hadn’t the slightest clue, as to how much work had been put into preserving her innocence, but she’d have more than enough time to learn what had happened to Artemis as an infant...now that she was gone, and the story was worth more as a tapestry bought and paid for at the expense of Mechanical Boar. All that was needed to succeed, was a skill in tracking the truth and the confining words and actions of person held unaccountable one-too-many times. Artemis had only known of one other person, so stubborn in their beliefs, left pillaging and scrambling to get ahead of the chaotic ceiling that began to crash down. The toll of accountability caused such a personality type to break down; unable to articulate the truth through clenched teeth and mumbling incoherently about their earned unhappiness.

Artemis had once hugged Athena when the woman was sloshed and angry beyond words. There they stood in a locked bear-hug. Silent tears fell as Athena wept wildly, and hurled a wail from the bellows of her soul. True helplessness came to person with professional education meant to heal the mind, left to unattended by an elder sister screaming in agony. The sound fell into the void that Artemis had invented as a child. There wasn’t a cannon to be built deep enough to hold their shared traumas--and their shared experience proved that the world was vast, and had plenty of room for more than one victim.

She felt her drunk sister become saddened by her littlest sister trying to pull her from the edges of alcohol-poisoning. Artemis said forgiving things; tucking away distractions and conducting a child to call for medical assistance. Athena had glared and thrashed about like a fish--annoyed with herself for being unable to create coherent sentences. She felt Athena pull away as she tried to deflect Artemis’s love with lonely words like “why are you like this?” or “what’s wrong with you?”. Words that still brought tears to swell beneath Artemis’s hardened exterior. Careless words had a way of making her sick with undeserving unhappiness.

Athena had been too intoxicated to speak, and so Artemis hugged her until she cried and let go of generations of abuse. That was the kind of sisterhood Athena and Artemis shared. “I am so sorry I couldn’t tell your whole story”, even now; Artemis worried the curse of time would leave her falling through the dark abyss, turning in a grave because of stones left unturned. Laughter left unlaughed. Athena would pretend to be indifferent, sniffling and staring past the audience that found her to be fascinating overnight. Artemis only had two arrows left, and she used them to tack Dianne to the wall of a marble room; sitting in front of a confused jury. Artemis had eventually asked for an audience of the first Jury--knowing the Loom of Fruit always had a horn of gluttony, and that a flawed system would be easily collapsed by those pretending to be detectives. There would be no need to rewrite history; if Artemis could prove remorse and emotions belonged to anyone sitting in judgement--a suspect to a butchered victim.

Artemis was done with the scourge of the sick game called “Dianne’s life”, and she’d use a book to hide worrying thoughts away safely upon a static shore. Her skills at hiding-in-plain-sight would no longer be a joke--to those that had once said "ohhh, I didn’t see you there." Artemis noticed pale women said unrefined thoughts in lieu of apologies to her--a lot. Artemis was forever mean-looking; glaring at strangers and barely taking notice of their ordinary faces as she said short retorts like "Alright." Such silly occurances would leave Athena amused; wishing to observe her youngest sibling being a brat out in the public--taking out her impatient ugliness on an already ugly world. The poem meant to change a verdict was all it’d take to undo Athena’s bottomless unhappiness.

Artemis desereved the self love that came form being her own person...to be valued by herself first, and open to be loved by Orion second. Artemis had left Athena with a simple answer to a simple question; one that proved that Artemis took comfort in the arms of Athena, and trusted her with general date of her newly wed life. This was the world where Artemis stood up for herself, and refused to live in fear; unable to bend over and take mistreatment at the hand of someone sickened by unhappiness.

Artemis had only wanted a marriage to call her own, and a life worthy of living without the irrational fear that Norma Jean and her held too much in common. The fear of necrophilia and its normalized place in society was as easy as a single story of a lone golden-haired woman. Artemis couldn’t even imagine a context where that particular nightmare would slip into reality. Artemis stood in front of her two sisters, and spoke directly to Dianne: holding an invisible weapon to her forehead and staring deeply into the midst of her glistening danger-lusted eyes “Get help--back the fuck up from my family.” Athena looked up the loaded weapon, and would begin to laugh--mostly because catch-phrases were lazy scripting, but partially because she enjoyed watching Artemis bring a scene alive. Artemis used the remainder of her golden thread, the last lines of her necromancy--to stitch together an epic poem that could eradicate any reasonable doubt a jury had built on behalf of Dianne; clarifying the truth, as to which of the two surviving sisters was really the victim.

Next Chapter: *[ LVII ] Artemis and the Viking*