Artemis felt herself crawling to the last chapter of her endless book: how was the anguish without a fair ending? Hadn’t she suffered enough...being born to no family, abandoned and afraid with every waking second of her pathetic life? Why had Orion dragged her heart upon the floor? Why had he asked her to rip it from her shallow chest as offering to his selfishness...if only to stomp all over it? Because he had seen her as insignificant. Dispensable to his liking, she was simply a means to an end--in his quest to avoid Genocide. She had been tasked as the person; in charge of bringing him physical comfort, when she was requited with none; to be the outcast in a couple too beautiful to make sense. Orion had been merciless in his emotional abuse, he had seen how she wept in his absence: pulling what little strength was left to achieve academic heights-reaching for the impossible; wanting to etch the name of an orphan into the stars and wondering if she’d ever see him again. The choice to egress came with a silent executive decision: his void of presence was the only way to teach her lessons, as to how a woman should “behave”. He needed her to reflect a person she’d never be, and in the end: Artemis was unsure as to the facts whether it was the concept of her, or his imagination run-amook that he had actually loved.

She felt an exhausted stomach churn...the tears swell from behind anxious eyes. Something was wrong with this picture. Artemis was never going to be enough for Orion, and he took sadistic joy; in reminding her if the status of being less-than-a-person, to placed upon a pedestal as a character. He wanted her to grovel and thank such lucky stars that he had decided to call Artemis his wife; claiming his jokes were taken too seriously, when wanting to call dibs on woman in passing. Not out of passion, but to spite the many men that had followed light steps...making predictions and taking turns to see if such fortune in the line of sight of an introverted woman could turn into a chance at being loved.

One day...he’d make a sick joke about divorcing her, and Artemis had walked off--sighing deeply and thinking a single thought "bet." She’d calmly present his veiled threats with a folder bought and paid for: severing ties and offering whatever was necessary to keep him paid and pretty...only wanting to rid herself of a man and his crass female best friend; providing whatever means necessary-to throw him out with the piles of trash he had eventually objected to tasking to. Solitude was found in thoughts of what it meant to have a life where Artemis was free to exist and without the worry of a strange woman holding a tounge of vectoring "jokes"--about how simple Orion’s life would be, if an insurance policy covered the griefs given in such rare chances that his wife was murdered.

The darkest parts of her life were filled with discomforting silence: staring at a glass and wishing for a poison to forget the words transpiring all around her. It’d take a moment of sheer confusion; a thought of relapse to echange a forever-empty glass with the confident clicking of high-set heels; announcing an unsealed folder with a handful of signatures, desperately needing a legal separation...just as she had done with the Viking-minus the legal formality. She was allowed to leave unsafe situations, but men forgot--by choice of needing the comfort in multiple women at once; the trial of a Vikings friendship had taught her the most valuable of lessons when accepting the facts...of how little men change with age. Artemis looked around her void: feeling ashamed of the relentless things she had allowed Orion to do to her life. How had they even made it this far? She refused to join in his aging misery: running out of excuses, as to why it was necessary to do the work of two people. There wasn’t enough room in such an unwelcoming party of pity, and she really wasn’t trying to get herself murdered.

Artemis admitted guilt--having enabled his selfishness by risking life and limb-ripping her body into two: attempting to bring him a son to love more than he could have ever loved her. Artemis was an ugly dream in his eyes...the pinnacle of misery: the wife he never wanted, the piece that never fit anywhere in the world...in his world. He had painted her out to be the Witch, the Hag that held him back from success, and she stood at his side regardless of his ill-intended words. Artemis lost countless hours of sleep...thinking his absence was the trigger: remembering the confusion she felt when the Viking had contemplated kissing her, and opted out of claiming her heart. It seemed--men were very comfortable with finding creative ways to announce she was unworthy of such acts of affection: incapable to admit which parts of her they had loved.

Artemis would never resent the Viking--for his inability to animate his feelings with actions, but she knew that daydreams on the topic would be stored away safely in a book; far from the reaches of a man that was "too cool" to flip through pages. The clipped wings of insecure ambitions were the most tragic of tales. The two men were forever out of range; falling through their own agendas, trapped beneath pages meant to remind Artemis of the importance of authenticity, brevity, and the "obscure" goal of being respected, and therefore loved.

She was forever the island of a person: holding a boredom inherited from a fallen Athena--the shared grief of a stolen childhood had doubled with her passing. Her smile seemed heavy to bear, her laughter filled rooms less and became insecure at moments where guilt fell upon the edges of a painted mouth. Artemis felt much like a ghost-of-a-person...the outlier to crassness compared to a female friend and Orion-fun had been stripped out of her life to mend a weighted cloth of responsibility. How long had Artemis been the ass end of their endless jokes? Why had they spent all of young adulthood; making shitty remarks about Artemis’s need to be studious? Much like the shitty Grandma named after her Cinder build and distasteful words aimed at a slaughtered daughter-in-law....Artemis knew; even an early departure from life wouldn’t be enough to be spared from ill-intended complaints, as to her overbearing personality--because why not. Both, hated women in their own ways. They lived in a gross unreality: where the lives of others were considered collateral to the spectrum of expectations given--to whatever was decided when weighing verdict as to what other women deserved, earned, or yearned to call a partnership. Artemis began to take notes of dates and times, as to when jokes began and ended at the right hand of Orion...because there wasn’t ever to be a time-or-place to take light of "jokes" and bets; around whether or not a wife would warrant the actions of being murdered.

Artemis didn’t really need another reason for Orion to hate her...more than he already did on the regular, so pages of emotions--were crafted with his unhelpful hand...to provide financial security, and a wide lenses on an ill-fated pairing. Artemis took a lot of amusement; out of Orion avoiding their book--because it would stand as dire proof...that he’d always take envy out of things where others lambasted her with praise. She claimed it was about philosophy and civil rights, and hid away the fact that pages had painted her to be mortal: it stood as proof that Artemis had only ever wanted to feel loved.

Artemis bowed an exhausted head and remained indifferent to the “sins” she had never been given the chance to commit. The arguments and armored conversations surrounding assets and adultery had been halted, for whatever reason. The oppressed daydreams of the aging Viking had finally caused her physical pain that was left to be attended in moments of loneliness. It wasn’t regret in marriage, but the loss of a meaningful friendship that had been traded to accommodate a fragile ego. She’d be worn down by the circular navigation of arguments as to what environment was warm, and standing opposite to intemperate friendship--reminding Orion of the legitimate fact that she had barely survived the early stage of adolescence: after Artemis’s best friend Buckles had been murdered.

Artemis was exhausted of being trapped in rooms; watching her husband fuck any woman that asked for his attendance in their dreams. One dream, she caught herself staring at a door: remembering that the Viking had been the first man to stand at her door with a longing heart--silent and stern. She stood up from her chair in the corner, and flung opened the red door with confidence; self-assured that he’d hate being tackled by a hug...which was something Artemis secretly loved.

Artemis felt his presence begging her to remember: not a romance worth saving, but the shadow of the person she had forgotten. A content stride that didn’t rely on Orion--a time before failures took the reigns of her life. Artemis peered up at the quiffed grey hair--pointed away from her direction, his piercing eyes peering upon a wide and excited set of almonds. Her face felt warm, aglow by the fact he was so consistent in his hesitance; proud at his need to search for her smile blindly through mazes unending. The depths of stoicism had nothing on two people avoiding a path left with pebbles unturned...the steps never taken; in worry of rejection and the unproven bounty, as to what such a power coupling could do or be--if either had taken the first step in declaring a boundary that expressed a need to be loved.

Artemis awoke confused: why hadn’t he reached out his hand? The Viking had always stopped short--one whole step away of a cursed door. She felt her body long to hug him once more, and an unfamiliar ping of fear: she couldn’t seem to place why he was so important. A meager "hey." and a man avoiding a cursed gaze could turn a euphoric moment into a complete nightmare--she wasn’t that person he had wanted her to become. Artemis was always letting everyone down in some fashion. Her talents in athleticism had been wasted...the gift of disability and humility had kept his feet anchored at bay. The passion for sports had nothing to do with a childhood filled with physical abuse--Artemis was too hideous to gaze upon; whereas, dreams projected upon a throne and wheels was entirely natural in her dreams. The things without question in her wandering mind--were too repulsive for his blue-eyed stare. She had forgotten why he had so easily objected to youthful admiration, unable to bend the facts as to a childhood where malnutrition and humiliation had been substituted for a home meant to nurture and protect a child well-deserving of being loved.

She closed the door with an exhausted sigh, for each man would torment her in unique ways: each needing to prove that she was worth-less and incapable of deserving the confidence that came from a healthy relationship. They’d each call her crazy, or unstable...until Artemis left each man with only the option, as to argue with one another. Both men--were blinded by their shame in their emotional inflections towards her: believing she was utterly too broken beyond repair and unworthy of being loved.

Artemis cried for herself, and the child that had been thrown across the room; clawing to break precious hair from the red talons of a crazed woman. There was nothing but ugliness in a cave of secrets, trapped at the end of a hallway crowned by a red door. No amount of wealth could repair the damage of a broken heart--through no fault of her own. Life had been objectively unfair; gifting her with a pretty face and kind heart. It wasn’t until the loss of an older sibling: until Artemis gave up emotional withholding, and asked for God to find a reason: that she’d been worthy of being remembered--capable of providing proper anger with the things that had come to pass...if it meant she could forgive such a cruel God and ask for proof that Artemis deserved to be loved.

Friendships began to build themselves around a grief-stricken woman: neither demanding such unreasonable offerings, or asking for entertainment...finally asking if she was ok when tides of luck refused to turn. Artemis shook her head no...ashamed as to what defeat could mean in a world painted with the darkness that fell from embittered fingertips. Even in the ethereal dreams; filled with huge cargo ships--Athena would always be in line with the opposition, a pirate of time and resources...whereas, Artemis was a scientist aboard a Federally organized sky-boat--crafting reports and allocating public announcements, as to where tax-payer monies had been allocated. Decked-out in pristine white linens and knee high boots; a need for uniforms, a sense of order and medals that declared accomplishments for such moxie--to offer importance in a world where studiousness was rewarded and loved.

The reader asked themselves “now what?”, and Artemis shrugged. Dreams of rain and snow falling upwards--had little to do with the nightmare that was her life. Her diseased spine had no cure in sight. There was no reasons, as to why the Mechanical Boar had forced unreality to fall upon them--they had voted for chaos and recieved the reward of suffering. The readers were too stupid to care about anything beyond a narrowing scope: before they had stepped into Artemis’s hallway of fleeting doors and rooms. She hadn’t any explanation, as to why Athena had given up on life on a random day. Artemis worked daily to remind herself that the choice had little to do with her and the sisterly capacity in which she had once been loved.

Artemis had even less of an understanding--to why two men had forced themselves into her life and inflicted harmed upon an already weary heart without shame. It was obvious by the journey she’d traveled: that a kindling friendship to the Viking was more valuable to her, than the need to fulfill the role of nagging wife that Orion had cast her in...because she refused his half-hearted offering to compete in a relationship with a stranger: knowing such dangerous situations weren’t capable of evolving into a fair marriage, or equating to an outcome that expressed a healthy understanding in expressing what it meant to be cherished and loved.

Artemis felt her body yawn--time was misconstrued in her simulation, and an awful book; being the only thing that freed a tempered mind and sorrowing dreams from wandering into complete chaos. The two men stood at her door...at every door, and Artemis was left aimlessly avoiding the pair: both needing her to Start-Up their hearts. One looking past her in a daze as he delivered mail, and the other avoiding reaching past his screen of static for her hand in marriage. Artemis remained flippant in her choices--yearning for more, wanting to move past it all: the young death of a sibling would calicify her emotions...allowing her to anchor expectations in what she deserved when searching for a partner--to shower with the smiles and a shameless need for attention; hoping he was still out there...waiting patiently for a wife worthy of a calm and steady relationship. Artemis had wanted to believe that there was more to life--than the shitty actions of two men that were too cowardly to admit their feelings...if it meant they had to only stop two strange women from making weird jokes, implications and inferences as to how reasonable it should seem to have Artemis succumb to a fate of being murdered.

Artemis had closed the door in such tiresome dreams, but opened the pathways of communication in real life. She was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. That was the role the Viking chose to fill out-of-pure-spite: unaware still...that he’d dislike Orion, somehow more than he hated himself. She had found a loose thread, and caught herself tempting to mend the loose ends--to be beside the choices men had never taken. Artemis refused to be painted as a risk--pointing taciturn methods to be aimed only at endless pages...secretly hoping to pull herself into reality in the near future; to be born past the words that often portrayed a person incapable of being understood or loved.

Artemis was freed by choices--leaving Orion behind, but remained chained by those that claimed to be "their" friends. The Viking refused the cutting of ties: because his loneliness superseded whatever home he had nested. Artemis felt her world twist and tangle--wrapping around a book that she vaguely remembered writing before. Had she participated in a simulation to add to the scientific data? Had she done all these things before? Why had her life and dreams--panned around so many monsters that were famed for their victims of innocence...if she herself had never been murdered?

Her mind became sick with such madness...there was such a jarring sea-sickness that came from falling over into scenes where right-side was up and prone to rotating on the drop of a hat. She was left writing down all the “feels”--to barricade herself away from the world in moments of confusion. Artemis was a monster. Her mind worked differently than everyone around--its ability to conjure issues prematurely was frightening, specifically when they came to fruition. No woman would want to be right all the time. Just as no man would find that trait to be attractive, admirable and loved.

She awaited the day--when loving others became the standard: Artemis had screeched into the night, shrill and weary...needing the world to admit to what they had done to her body. To witness a childhood fostered by self- doubt and hatred first-hand, and to embrace the helplessness in a moment captured by a golden wreath. To be of kind heart--in a life swaddled with violence: had set Artemis up for imminent failure...she chose to survive, selfish in the task--changing out the word kind, for the word good; forgiving the abandoned child embracing scared knees in a corner. The world had forgotten Artemis; locked away for the sins of being an outcast, a loser worth relentless bullying. Her biggest rivalries being two older siblings...fearful of such self-advocacy: the bravery needed to stand up and walk away from relationships that were unhealthy after moments of proof where questions arose, as to what it meant to be seen and loved.

Artemis couldn’t remember if Dianne had led her back into the closet filled with blankets and a smothering death--in real life, or if she’d weaseled her way back into the good graces of Artemis’s heart with deceptive intentions. A window shattered by time and the inevitable--had gifted a single moment of forgiveness, when needing the embrace of God to explain the loss of a sister. Artemis had a dream of a life where Dianne had succeeded in her first two attempts in homicide, and allowed Athena to take the fall--having pushed a child from a trail, or holding a trusting competition below the rivers calm surface. The choppy squared waves holding a lid to the words meant to represent such dangerous and fickle tides. In that particular dimension: Dianne had been so worried of the truth, that she created a simulation for her “beloved sister” to be reincarnated. Knowing the shadowed self of a stupid baby sibling was something of a memory that Athena had secretly loved.

Artemis had been stranded in a system of silver and gold webs, screaming into the void--while Dianne chained her to a wall to observe as each passerby gained entry and raped a helpless sibling with glee. Dianne had even boasted of this dream in front of a brave Ph.D Lyons, and Artemis said nothing... expressing a face of worry and mentioning how terrifying such a dream would be--superseding the pursuit of happiness to cause emotional harm on others; in a realm of endless possibilities and instead offering such fear to be projected into a reality; where no one would have been the wiser. The harmful words were meant to send a threat to a sister--to remind Artemis that no man would, or could save her from such torture; even in dreams where every moment of control had been in the hands of the beholder. Dianne was unfamiliar with the concept of "doing the right thing", as a personality trait that reflected the fatal darkness of spells of such seeming psychopathy. Artemis had shared the same dream, and so she found a speck of relief in knowing the details of her book were finally making sense--relaying taunting words to professionals for safe keeping. The simulated memory had created a limbo; to trap a memory of Dianne in--to embark proper notes, as to what untreated circumstances led to. It’d make sense to imagine up an entire person to forego reality, but Artemis wasn’t capable of forgetting that such sick thoughts of grandeur and the strange lust to leave another sibling murdered.

The reader asked “is she really that bad?”, and Artemis nodded and said simply “Yes.” Her sister was deranged in a longing to steal things from Artemis--to see the world in three ways; at seperate vantage points; to be with reason, from her viewpoint, and from what she deemed fair...when weighing what the world owed her: when comparing it to three equally unloved sisters. Artemis had the upper hand in this world--building a wall made of grey rocks and claiming absence of years to be needed for self-discovery outside of trauma bonding and a reliance on a poisonous wines; etching in deep mourning for Dianne through a handful of very real messages to Athena before her untimely departure. Both were true, but more than anything...Artemis had wanted to craft a world where there wasn’t room for a doubt as to how much she was loved.

Artemis was a poet with a cause: she wielded Justice with a vengeance--needing to find proper resources to help a sibling before destruction constructed a path where their fates would collide. Artemis crafted an intricate simulation, and trapped her middle sister in it--by way of tricking her: wiping Dianna’s memory clean following a life behind bars, drifting in the darkness--far beyond the reaches of reality. All it took was the an interview with a home-wrecker, a twin of flame--holding a matching candle stick, and sitting next to a mirroring sick individual...to bring the "whole plot" to the ground. Both Dianne and Orion’s female best friend had a proclivity for condescending words--often making light of the topic of Artemis’s eventual need to be murdered.

Artemis had forgotten the premises of such a dark poem--having mended trembling bridges with an elder sister after the memorial of Athena. This was a sickness that fell beyond the scope of anything she could comprehend--the pages of a dreary prison-of-thought; meant to remind Artemis to be cautious at all times, but to provide all efforts to attain help for sibling that deserved the world. Artemis had loved both of her sisters in a profound way--she had bent the world around them; and accepted that maybe only one deserved a life free of their shared suffering...and it wasn’t hers. The book had also been a safe to lock away Artemis’s humble admiration for Athena: a woman now free of suffering, free of the burdensome role of being a parent. Athena had selfishly gifting those around her with her illness of grief ten-fold, as she left the world in chaos--leaving a post of being a protector between two violent younger siblings, and causing Artemis to believe that she could die at a younger age...falling sick with broken heart--conflicted as to whether Athena had ever cared for her all, or what it was that she had ever loved.

A foot-noted female best friend, would only need to tell Dianne--that she’d get the chance to “kiss Orion”, in order for a sister to feen over the game, the chase of hunt; that would trap her for the rest of her insignificant life--far from the reaches of a golden son forever. Artemis had wanted to avoid the tragic loss of progress, for a family consumed by intergenerational trauma: needing to imprison them both with static filled-eyes behind bars; meant to punish her into forgetting the task of competition when there was none. Since it was the only underlying reason for why Artemis had been drafted, as worthy of being murdered.

Artemis had no apologies for a middle sister and her contrite existence...only pity--and the solution of throwing professionals upon their shared path, or profit into hobbies meant to distract from wandering thoughts. Ivory-laced melodies had salvaged what little speck of encouragement lay in the dark fringes of her mind...there was no way to move past the lost childhood without the presence of Athena, and so Artemis did as the surrounding brave-and-healed younger generations did: scribbling "Let it go" upon an ordinary plate, screaming as she hurled it at brick wall. The hands of time couldn’t undo the things Athena had done to her life, and the burdens of guilt were too heavy for Artemis to take with her...no amount of wealth could bring the same level of comfort to the condoling silence in Athena’s awkward embrace when attempting to provide a baby sibling with a moment expressing that she was loved.

Artemis wished for Dianne’s mask to be shattered to millions of evil pieces, and hoped Ph.D Lyons had managed to scathe out of the horrific event(s) with his life. Artemis had an awful dream where her sister had seen Orion, and began drooling with bashful excitement within a moment of their meeting...capricious by nature: thrilled by the rare chance she believed Artemis "owed her a boyfriend" after the tragic nonsense they had over Mr. Cobb when Dianne had been humiliated to find out that Artemis had politely said "no thank you" to a boy, and he retaliated by yelling "I’ll just date your sister then". The abrassive change in personality had solidified her words, but he had followed up on extreme promises to make life uncomfortable-an eye for an eye, and Dianne had been the blindsided party. Which was a pretty shitty way to express one’s expressions and capabilities in making someone feel loved.

Artemis didn’t care, he seemed like a jerk...until Dianne began screaming one random day--that Artemis was a loser, expressing how such a lowly boyfriend; made her "jealous" by proxy. Artemis defended her name with a laugh that was crude, and spoke the truth-woman-to-woman; until Dianne began to shake in rage. People with narcissist tendencies were dangerous whenever they were embarrassed by the truth, and Dianne was no different--the rage that followed had been one pocketed for another day, where discipline and laws were left beside a woody path. Artemis secretly worried that Dianne had used her beautiful life with a Ph.D Lyons and "his child", as a piece of false-normalcy that’d last until the two were no longer useful in part of a grand plan. They would have to be discarded somehow...if she were ever to move on to "steal" Artemis’s husband--if such childish debts were still to be repaid. The only way to cancel such underthought plans--was to under cut the outlying problem; to remove one’s self from the equation with increments of years building walls between two surviving sisters. She had noticed that the woman was arrogant and predictable in her methods of attempting to prove that Orion longed for her--whereas, Artemis was simply needing to break a decade-long spell of psychopathy that often left her forgetting the price of freedom, and emotional-control. Artemis knew there were plenty of non-familial people trying to ensure that Dianne understood that she was accepted with open arms and loved.

There came a moment of doubt: where Artemis had forgotten the foolishness of two candle wicks burning at different paces. One delayed at the expense of a somewhat responsible sibling: seeking help at times, and abandoning herself in others. The wick shortened--only by the amount of time stuck within proximity of Artemis in a childhood: robbed of all normalcy. The second candle--grabbed greedily by Orion’s female le best friend. Artemis added the "Le" to be on brand with a separate, but equally creepy woman known as the infamous mistress, and to better paint the strengths of a woman that often elevated the lives of those placed on "her team"...only aiding people in moments here and there, but never helping better them in moments where time was traded and life seperated people from her long-fingered grasps. Artemis didn’t understand the apeal, observing how she’d forever banished Orion to the sidelines when he was single and available--recruiting him in moments of boredom; during seasons where winning wasn’t an option. It was easier to hold him at bay...to play mind games for decades, if it meant he were to come crawling back to stand trial as to whether he was worthy of being loved.

The tides of time had drafted the story to be rounded-out; Artemis had opted out of a loveless marriage...displacing worries in pages meant to remind her of the increasing probabilities--in which mental health as an endemic were splattered over the land with blood-drenched stories that never seemed to end. Artemis was unfamiliar with the idea of watering down the talent around her, or using others as jumping-off points to build reputation and legacy: unlike the odd woman tied to Orion’s withering limb...she broke away a frail red thread of ill-intent, as a female leader...willing to take chances on a single man. He was yet to arrive, but Artemis was ready to take bets on how amazing it’d be to be part of a two-person team where her passion for life was loved.

Artemis didn’t rely on spells--pulling the opinions of others to cast favor, or hold blackening mail over friends; when holding equally sketchy company. The obvious charms of le female best friend would fall on deaf ears: in the presence of a man with true character. She had wanted to believe in an unkown man--that saw no calls worth contending, no flailing dramatics to pull focus from the prize; there was no "competition" when comparing her earned work ethic to any other lazy athlete. Artemis was forever unable to set others up for stagnant careers--taking the one-on-one attention to be a skill worth practicing...if it meant no man was left behind. The slow and steady improvements were worth more than their weight in gold--with everyone being left in a healthier state; to hold a line where everyone could shine and be valued for their unique qualities. She had only wanted a single teammate to rely on, to take understanding in her unyielding tears when left in a trance stating awful things like "something bad happened to me."--on the pathetic days where Artemis had wanted to curl up in a ball and die; to punish the world for what they had allowed to occur on their watch. The idea of being a leader was frightening, when remembering slaps across the face for laughing out of nervousness--an argument between two sisters had been escalated to a shared abuser, and Artemis was punished for the discomfort people awarded with ease. Her life had always been so lonely--telling herself that no company was better than bad company. There was a line drawn: as to what it meant to yell "pick me!", and being picked...by a worthy partner, for romantic and whole-hearted reasons of deserving to be selected, adored and loved.

The only thing more dangerous than a woman jealous in love: was a woman obsessed with the things that would never belonged to her. Artemis had seen the blood dripping from the wall--pulling a bait-and-switch, to prove that Orion wasn’t the prize worth winning...and that the prize of a man only known as Perseus had been a sound option, rich in culture, self-respect, and a patience armed to prove that Artemis was capable of reciprocating a responsible manner of being loved.

There in the darkness of a cave: stood Artemis...wishing only for the company of her two sisters. One had given up on life: leaving Artemis unprotected from a sibling born with a sickness that was without cure...the child forever frozen in a moment as toddler; trapped in a kitchen near the body of fallen guardian. The candlestick of fate was meant to stand as a reminder of fair judgement, to procure precaution for a future day if Dianne ever chose to forget the reasons in which Artemis, as a person: was worthy of a life where she was deeply loved.

Artemis used her poem to beg one of her "oldest friends"--to look away from her corpse: needing to spare his mind and sorrowful dreams to be without images of her face peeled away from a small skull, or a stick protruding from private parts--both being odd remarks; made memorable when falling from the mouth of an older sibling. Her limbs laid in disarray: small legs laying open for the world to gaze upon, tucked in shallow greenery and a knife wound to the upper chest: the savagery of Dianne’s craftsmanship done in a "fit of rage", much like the criminal past of a woman named "NK". There was no reason to make light of the words that had once been masked as "jokes"--taken unfairly out of context in awkward silences, but made to be all-too-real to ignore or let go without a second thought; when Artemis’s own best friend had been murdered.

Artemis stood in front of the Viking; with her small hands holding his scruffy pointed chin--occasionally reaching for his hand whenever she wept for what words they had left unsaid, and the judgement he had passed upon her soul in their few moments of friendship. She pleaded that he no longer hold a stern face, and asked that he explain his woes in "needing her to be ok", if only to provide a silent Jury with context, as to how people such as himself could adore her from afar: afraid as to what step followed when being forced to admit moments of where Artemis was almost loved.

She told him of a short story--in which she was born a fox demon, a orphaned girl with three tails: one labeled weakness, for her love of substances in liquid form: one labeled woeful, for her need to trust others too much and to believe in their ability to change for the better: the last labeled violence, for she had once held a history for harming living things without remorse. Artemis had realized her traits in wickedness, and cut off two her tails: transforming her status of a demon-fox, to that of a wounded fox--struggling to be repented for such sins: somewhat content, as she smiled up at the world from a throne upon wheels. Such fervor for life would only worsen the disorder of a sibling: if it ever came to proposition the option of a final solution--in which a younger sibling was painted as incapable of playing by the rules and destined for a fate of being murdered.

Dianne had nine-tails, and it’d take the world observing her true form to peel away at the many, many sins and vices she coveted. Artemis had found her true form--of a covert narcissist and ran away in the still of the night, and in doing so...the occasionally wicked sister had crafted a bracelet that tracked her every move. Artemis crafted the Viking a poem, if only to stand in front of his sullen figure one last time, and to weep as she hugged his torso without needing him to reciprocate: desperate to help him forget the imagery of such savagery, for only a second--to break the cycle of spiraling in his thoughts. "It’ll be ok old man...you said everything was going to be ok, as long as I kept my spirits high." Artemis knew he’d hate himself for all the things he had wanted to believe, so instead she gifted him with a name at last: his title as Jiang Ziya was meant to honor the fact he’d always be loved.

The woman with nine sinful tails was afraid of mirrors, and she needed Hera to enforce her reality--a broken relationship would be mended if it meant a once-abusive adversary providing cover. Artemis wondered if the court was in a flurry by their ability to break both women’s masks of narcissistic pleasures, or if they thought it was simply “grief”. Much like an awful cinder-like grandmother: distaste in one’s existence could be drawn out in moment of histrionics...no matter how many decades had passed. There was an undeniable dislike for someone: even in death...at the hand of women unable to commit to reality, as to why a passing stranger was worthy of existing in peace--called a shining light or given excuses for shenanigans: shy to the understanding of why Artemis had claimed a life where the new normal was surrounded with people confident, as to how much merit stood behind the facts of her being loved.

Artemis returned to her last chapter--ready to tell the reader as to what tormented weighed down her restless spirit: having broken her heart into two, and each man had rejected it and leaving her dancing alone. One had tossed it aside--and the other kept it in a glass case beside his bedside. Orion needed her to hurt in order to feel anything: he relished at the sight of her crying in anguish and embarrassment, and the Viking chose to harm her by pretending to be indifferent. Artemis was nothing more than an antic for these men--each man was able to crush her with their unique glares and wavering infatuation. She had kept each of them--a secret from the other, and ripped her heart into two by doing so. Artemis knew the sins of her daydreams would be too much for Orion to handle, and so she resorted to scripting poems to hide them away in plain sight instead. The mere fact--that she had possibly attempted to love someone like the Viking, in the same capacity of Orion; were the presentable grounds to unreasonable people that had probably set her up to be murdered.

Artemis had a far-fetched dream--where she had been married to the Viking, and had even bore the son he had once audibly wished for. In that dream--she had lived a full life, and even became grateful for all things earned through hard work: there had been no room or reason in which a Devil May Cry. She had been calm and reserved--holding an arrow steady, and it had given her the ability to help people with leaps and bounds. One day, she had fought with the Viking over nothing, and he had let it slip that he’d gone out of his way to kiss Athena. It had been in a dimension where a birth father had acknowledged a secret child, and broke up a triad of sisters: stepping-up as a man and providing a baby Athena with a life where she was properly nurtured and loved.

There was a hole of blackness built into a heart of gold: eating away at the dimension where an elder sister had survived past thirty-nine. It had happened decades ago, but he had kept the secret to hurt Artemis none-the-less: it burned itself into a dream that eventually pulled an endoblolic shape; where all thoughts and reactions were consumed by grief. His actions had led her to walk off a bridge in a sobered rage--choosing a moment of selfishness to punish Athena’s selfishness. Artemis had been forced to live a lie, and the Viking had kept her captive in a life that was never hers to begin with. This was a life where a wife--was too distraught to care, too tired of being laughed at: suffering alone in the pathetic facade of a happy family. In that dream, her sister Athena was the Olympian she was born to be: and Artemis had been the "fuck-up", the bad sibling: drowning in despair by way of a plucked liver and denial--that the Viking had decided to take pity upon, to openly trick into feeling loved.

Artemis awoke from that dream, and reported it to the Viking with urgency--pissed beyond all belief at his transgressions. They fought over her jealousy, and the Viking laughed it off, unaware of Athena’s illness in nullifying all forms of accountability, and so he began to care for Artemis more: asking why she was stewing nearby with crossed arms...amused that she was so deeply offended by a dream, and enamored that she admitted that they had been married in her dream. The turning-point in the argument pivoted around how little he had taken away from the story, as he clenched a jaw and snickered to himself. Artemis was bored by his indignation, and the blinding facts that he’d always paint her to the weaker of choices between any option of two women...storming off and ranting about how she didn’t have time for his bullshit; despite being the younger of the two. The stacked arguments resulting in her fleeing to the Salish Sea--to hold a crown upon the wooden courts where the world was comfortable expressing admiration for her athletic talents and open desires to feel loved.

The aging Viking had enjoyed that her story--meant proclaimed feelings were somewhere...deeply hidden beneath an otherwise cold exterior. Artemis loved that the Viking had chosen to boom deeply in his laughter, and her eyebrows seemed more confused than his for a change, as she sat quietly and stared at nothing. She decided in a single moment...there was nothing but friendship in a companionship where doubt left Artemis painted as the less-sane of two options. He had no reason to believe she was serious, as to the threat her dreams imposed on everyday actions, and it gave her solace to allow him into the derailed thinking that haunted everyday thoughts. Instead of arguments, they enjoyed each others company--while Artemis left him to be blindsided by the many steps taken to move over invisible lines outside of his company while she instead said less, and just admired the endless rain that they both loved.

Artemis had fallen for him that day--knowing he’d never call her “crazy”: wanting to change the things she’d come to accept as normal: he just liked judging her methods in being reasonable as a hobby. Athena was a person worth noticing, for sure--but, Artemis was real: flawed in every capacity--messy at times where nervousness took a hold of new experiences. He had made a joke over the oddity of their pairing, and it made Artemis feel ashamed that he’d never feel comfortable in expressing his obvious feelings towards her. It had broken her: sensing how the world was so comfortable boxing her out of friendships that worth fighting for, and so Artemis set forth...wandering into the unknown once more--in search of what it meant to be truly loved.

She’d leave the Vikings side, only to have a seizure and a loss of mobility from the waist down...missing a handful of their "dates" and paying double the consequences regardless. Eventually, she returned to a gymnasium--only to have a Viking berate her with expectations, as to how she wasn’t “allowed to just come and go as she pleased”. Artemis hadn’t the words to describe what was wrong, she just shrugged tired shoulders: the choice to egress from heartbreak wouldn’t be reasonable excuse in his blinded eyes--the choices he had drafted with his own actions, weren’t anything worth salvaging when trying to build a life where an orphan was gifted with the certainty of what it meant to be loved.

Artemis had said less; accepting that he never cared for her as person, and eventually asked herself "why are we doing this?". Artemis stood before him; still without proper diagnosis to the sickness that now threatened her life...holding a tounge; if it meant his life was cushioned by such privilege in knowing less. They were always ripped apart from each other by the world--him tumbling from the heights of which he had placed himself, and she...crawling through life: to pay for the sins of God forgetting her soon after birth. Artemis decided to leave instead: conceded to find cures that she knew didn’t exist, as her spine was demolished beyond all repair. There was a poetic justice in the fact that she had ran away from the one person that cared to hear her playful voice, and left him whimpering on a bench sitting pigeon-toed: upset that his friend left without a goodbye, or a fair-enough reasons to abandon his nest of comfort: confident in her own wings--set out to prove that she deserved requited embraces and outward affections in being loved.

The reader asked “what happened to him?”, and Artemis shrugged in sad disbelief. “I don’t know...I ruined everything.” That was the way she had lived life before a diagnosis--casually burning bridges and drinking to forget. It was the reason she swayed alone in the darkest of days, and wept endlessly most nights. Artemis knew he still cared: recalling how he stared at her from a distance--there was something there, but he had been able to see the person clinging onto a reality that openly rejected an orphan--unfamilar as to what it meant to feel loved.

He’d treat her presence as though it were fictitious; too precious to touch, as though she were too silly...to be real in the world: surrounded in such seriousness. He had wanted to live his life through women, and feel security by the caliber of whatever they represented. Artemis had been a loner upon their initial meeting, and she offered him little outside of few snacks, abashed smiles and funny stories to entertain. His ears would turn and twist--occasionally expressing the impressiveness that she was still alive, which was something she secretly loved.

Artemis had realized this early on that such loneliness was unique to people his age. She pondered as to if such a role of bestie had ever been filled, or even applied for. He seemed thrown off at the question, as it was clear he’d never had a best friend...that didn’t need him to dunk a orange ball or provide his pale stature to be more than a token for normalcy. She volunteered to be his rock upon the shores of such crass waters. He had nodded yes, and Artemis had felt herself blush in confusion. She had yet to lay eyes on Orion, so the courage she had to muster in asking the loaded question was a lot to comprehend. His lack of second-guessing brought on immense joy, and she remembered how that moment of silence had been the most comfortable feeling she’d ever known. It was almost as though he wanted to agree that she deserved to feel what everyone else got to feel, whenever they spoke of how it felt to be respected, and, or loved.

Artemis felt herself cry--drafting her words carefully, and editing them with fine comb of learnability. Orion would probably never read this, as he had known of the book itself--but never found her worth searching for. She didn’t have the strength to tell him--that the Viking had been her first love, albeit: unrequited. A sullen heart had carried her faster than tired feet ever could, and it had left her being bitch-slapped by the winds of reality, and utterly alone...prepared to desert Orion’s twisted version of romance the first time he had set light to a scenario, gassing past abnormal circumstances and making light of her discomfort when explaining a firm preference of boundaries between him and a strange woman--and an innate desire to not be murdered.

The Viking was nothing more than a beautiful daydream--she would be left grappling with; visiting in exhausting dreams, or in the pages that protected her laughter and kept a smile intact. He was the rain--in the days where she needed excuses to stay home, and the calm night sky--when her heart was aching and tired. The Viking had been the only person in her life; to ask if she was okay and it meant the world to her. Why had it been so easy for him to care? Up until the point in life: such kindness was reserved for anyone and everyone but her, because people had never taken into account that she was unfamiliar to the sensation of being loved.

The Indigenous Warriors were raised--to know that those with pale skin and dead eyes weren’t much of a threat to their wives, but she hadn’t the heart to tell Orion; that the Viking had once called Artemis his wife by allowing "his men" to make assumptions. They had argued about the fact that neither felt the need to correct people--out of discomfort and boredom. It had been a joke at first, until the Viking had found out Artemis had just shrugged and said “it’s ok”, handing him mail--blushing endlessly and wondering who she’d be in a life where that was true. Such funny memories wouldn’t be so humorous to Orion. Artemis distanced herself to protect his career anyways. She didn’t want for the Viking to have another reason to declare her unworthy of being his friend: afraid to be cast aside from his life and left feeling incompetent in reminding him that she deserved to be loved.

The reader asked “which man did you choose?”, and Artemis looked away in disgust: the man she had turned the world upside-down for, was nowhere to be found. Artemis felt helplessly unable to claim her true feelings by the standards of social norms with one man, and her comfort completely disregarded by the other. Nobody thinks twice about the well-being and thoughts of a cripple, and life was no different in her instance...she wasn’t extraordinary in any respect; because her childhood had been occluded by endless abuse and an obligation to ensure that it was voided of all forms of what would be expected for a child--that so openly wanted to be adopted and loved.

Orion had abandoned her side to sow his oats--the Viking had wandered off to present himself with a life less thrilling than one he had imagined at her side. She didn’t want either to resent her in marriage, and so she sat tight--hoping to conjure a man from darkness to better fit the design of life, where intricate flaws and nuances were appreciated and loved.

Artemis hated that Orion used his body as weapon--putrid smells filled contemptuous nostrils whenever she thought of his disgusting track record of fucking anything with a pulse. She had given Orion every reason to become the love story he claimed to want, and instead...he risked STD’s for a life filled with arguments. His urges--were a well-known Achilles heel, and a definitive reason as to why Artemis was cursed to be alone in marriage: if ever the opportunity arose that she clenched a left hand and claimed to honor and stand by all that he loved.

Artemis reflected on what it meant to be crippled eventually--too sad to care, a victim to vulnerability of such a cruel man. Unapologetic words and actions would be the downfall of her sanity. Not because Orion didn’t care, but because his version of caring wasn’t ever going to be enough--unless he felt the weight of competition in the wind. Artemis preserved dignity with the daydreams of a Viking with beautiful eyes and a skill of woven patterns of mumbling and yelling. Both, were peeving qualities that brought expression to Artemis’s eyes and an incessant desire to argue about nothing--if it meant he lowered his voice while in close proximity...the groans of disagreement in communication methods was something the Viking secretly loved.

Next Chapter: *[ LVIII ] Artemis and the Tree of Lights*