"Don’t leave me alone." Artemis had found herself enamored with the visuals of a man that wasn’t Orion, and the attrition he held over her waned by each setting of the moon. A young boy with many names walked out of the darkness of her broken heart, pulling her away from the middle path of loneliness. He remained silent with mischief glistening behind the basin of his eyes....six gentlemen cluttered around his every step, judging his every movement. Artemis recalled locking eyes with him in a dream, and nibbling on an ear playfully, allowing her hand to slacken from the clasps of Orion...an act that would either be her best, or worst mistake. She was weary from the worry of having wasted her life watching Orion attempt to leave her behind. He had dragged Artemis along far enough for her to lose sight of all he had to offer, and instead of trailing behind him...Artemis chose to hold out her right hand to ingress the opportunity to retrieve all that had been attenuated or depreciated in the past. Artemis was open to adoring, respecting, and a romantic introduction to a foreign conceptualization of all that was partnership. She had ran out of ways to lie to the world, and had grown bored of pretending that such abstraction were enough to overlook the tenuous state that Orion had often left her in. Nothing could ever recapitulate, that their romance had been anything like a jovial walk in the park.

Artemis had hit the ejection button on their love, taking a risk in iconoclasm and waiting for a boyish entertainer and his gang of colorful friends to arrive at her door. Her ability in stepping into the hypothetical unknown, decorated in pomp footwear; brandishing an unstoppable stride, and without plan of contingency or remorse. She tended to the stubbornness of relinquishing any apology for the characteristics that had so often backfired in her drunken past, moving past it all...with a light click of heeled confidence making the prominent announcement of her arrival to the willing pavement. Her recent regimentation assisted in morphing the word reckless into the word zeal. The sobering acceptance in occasional failure, often outweighed what little pathos hid away in the milieu-ed edges of her bouncing shadow. Her longing to be loved could no longer be labeled as pathetic, whenever embraced by a man with prideful exuberance perpetuated on his own successes. She was more than willing to take a moment to focus on personal development and education, if it meant that she’d be introduced to such a high-caliber person.

Artemis had found herself preparing herself for many battles of bickering and debating the state of vacuity of Orion and his need to remain present in her life. She had dreams of plopping down upon the lap of a charming Prince, nibbling at his ear and attempting to soothe his worries; A dream where he was upset by her late entry into his life. She awoke with the clairvoyance that he had chosen to argue about the irreducible state of her romantic past, instead of enjoying the solitude in their shared dream. The man that caused beautiful chaos all around him, and often left Artemis to reflect on his growing list of assailing flaws. She saw his exterior to be beautiful, and found his voice to be borderline angelic: the spell he cast, left Artemis occasionally necessitating six others without reason. Artemis blushed at the idea of meeting such a high-maintenance individual, and began to document the dreams of such strange occurrences. There were probabilities that Artemis would actually encounter such an insoluble person.

Artemis had once inadvertently met him in a cursed hallway, and they joined together in anatomizing over the unconscious body of Artemis sleeping away in a massive bed that lay center of a room. Her slumber often resembled that of an ungraceful, tuckered out beast with black fur lining its softened eyes. He seemed unaware that Artemis could be two places at once; due to their unfamiliarity in real time. She had nudged him with word of encouragement to take a step into the bedroom, and raised an eyebrow in response to his presuppositions, lamenting that the woman passed out before them seemed “too easy”. Artemis held in a soft giggle, as his brain had yet to register her face into his dreams: they were strangers that sought each other out with engendering desire and boredom. He was unaware that the woman holding his hand in the doorway was the same person as the one he had just insulted. She had forsworn to holding in her amusement by the entirety of the situation, her heart had been torn into two...one piece left to lay tired and cold from her encounter with Orion, the other piece was lost in thought: wandering aimlessly and missing the loving touch of a man she had yet to meet in person.

Artemis bowed out of her dream, laughing to herself and knowing that the story of Goo Woong would be the only thing to break through his fragmentary memory. One day: Artemis had almost felt guilty in her admiration of staring at the talented man outside her door, and so revoked Orion from his candidature in standing guard. His temperament was tested by the demand, although he didn’t seem to recall the trebled issues of their past lives, and was wholly unaware of what man he was being asked to make way for. He stepped aside from the centralized position of the open door, having eagerly forgotten that Artemis was a woman worth pursuing. Orion had wasted their young-adulthood pouting and seeking reasons to abandon his post; to prove the darkening depths of his resentment--longing only to be Eighteen Again. It wasn’t Artemis’s place to remind him that other men were more-than-willing to see her as a desirable person.

Artemis feared a life where both men were available to throw around their opinions and emotions in her presence. The idea of standing below the two men arguing was a nightmare many wives knew of. It was a striking worry to know that multiple men were ready to care for her well-being and efforts in success; let alone, to be ineluctable by way of personality trait. Men had always used her as a datum that wrought fear into their hearts, an unattainable icon that could make or break their spirit. Many-a-dude could vouch for the fact the term girlfriend would never be enough, and she were too picky to attempt to care of their agendas. How many men had discarded her for their own abstractions that the vanity she wielded was unmatched to her educational efforts? Artemis knew that the propriety of her predominate smile would always mean that she stood out as an exuberant and challenging person.

She took pride in the fact that was occasionally deemed as “not much fun…”, the world was relentless in marveling in the shine of her charm. Artemis would swirl wrists and hum out loud fragmented echoes of another diva..."Stay with me...Knocking on midnight’s door, there’s a hole in my heart.
That season when I cried right in front of your eyes, stay with me." The components of time had begun to quicken in pace, diagnosis had set into her bones, and there was no longer any falsified hope to cling to...nothing left but a graceful exit, and the lure of walking into the darkness of mortality. Artemis had chosen to stand direct in the path of death, and to treat her incurable disease as though it were a thing marring a slightly soggy stroll in the park.

Artemis bowed her head to tackle all that was the human experience, having taken pride and ambition in those that had stood about face to West...their belief in a man named Whitman had proven that leaders are born, torn down, questioned, and flaunted whenever the reward was fitting to an agenda. She had searched countless dimensions for a timeline where white hooded wagons were dragged along the land in a sluggish pace: resembling ants locked in step and holding a snake formation through caravan. The daydreamers stumbled along in patriotic fashion, littering a trail with expendable items and occasionally partaking in cannibalism. Artemis had seen a niche in market for snide penmanship, and her blood held traces of an entrepreneurial spirit found only with a man named Studebaker. He had been the key in crafting the archetype of a Mechanical Boar, along with the waste propellants provided by the sacred beast that roamed the plains of the Sioux. The mere mention of such a spectacular hide, would force Artemis to clap her hands twice in appreciation, throwing prepared gesture meant for a sacred leather to be passed along...or announcing a party (it depended on who you asked). Few things gave her as much joy than acting whimsical and "Tradishhhh", because the woke-ness of their culture could finally value the politically correctness of such a comedy-driven person.

She took amusement in the idealism of expansion, and the conman-ship required to sell ones whole life on a whim, swarming to mystical rivers in search of a hypothetical fortune. Glistening delicate stone and prosperity in land deeds sent people into a fucking tizzy: Democracy was only to be secured through occupation of territory. No matter the expense of life lost. The use it or, lose it policy was in full effect. Artemis had loved the tale of impulsivity...the few, leading themselves to a small gap between a range of mountains and seeking protection from the fierce Sioux Warriors. The Indigenous leaders had offered the service of protection at no cost, just knowing that the Crow where known for being petty assholes. Artemis could imagine Buckles in Traditional attire in a reincarnated past, risking his life to protect the lives of others...simply because it was the right thing to do. Her maladaptive daydreams allowed Artemis to take pride and assumption as to what the past reincarnations of herself and others had done: to serve the present versions of themselves. She didn’t mind the present: knowing that the original Valley of Willamette had extended all the way up to the modern reaches of an occupied region of northern Columbia. A banal fact that would always piss off one lazy, curve less, and uneducated person.

“I like who I am today”. Her snarl was gently upturned with the sunrise, and her wicked delight in shit-talking had been warranted to combat dreams of a homewrecking "female friend". Artemis forgot that her presence was proof that Orion needed Artemis to be the serious, less-fun part of his life. The nightmarish woman being absent was like a breath of fresh air, a life without a husband and his shitty "forever friend" was a life worth living. Artemis awoke with vengeance and worry in her heart, but posterity and hopefulness were lifted to hold the milieu of opportunity born with each new day. Her self-assurance was substantially more valuable than the memory of his forgotten embrace. Life struck her through flashes in a teasing glance and past accidental glares given to strangers. There wasn’t enough advice fit for a woman cursed with the name wife: her smiles abandoned by a man drenched in traits of Puer Aerternus, his unquenchable Puella left him ransacked in reason and desperate to seek the true unknown...the ones found with new sexual encounters, or humiliating whatever woman stupidly took his hand. Her love was overwhelming like an unleashed river, whereas his was paced with denudation, stagnant, lacking in authenticity or commitment. Artemis had finally accepted that he may not be her only love: her only prized “person”.

She began sprinting, fleeing Orion and his crushing expectations; his neglect and absence had triggered to morph every step to be dripping with a need to preserve survival. Artemis found herself laughing at the mere idea of swatting away at his offering, with a "nah", and laying down poems as she saw fit. There was no way to circumvent the pain of a woman worn down by mistreatment, pages of forewarning and a surplus amount of data to express malicious intent and premeditation of crime. Was this trap really meant to excuse the delay in stepping up to walk down a wedding aisle. How long could she and the readers burrow away the grains of evidence in plain sight? Her love for him was shameless. Had she done enough to assist in driving the point home to a silent Jury? Was there enough time in the day, to specify the amount of paranoia and terror that Dianne and her listless desires posed upon a marriage? Artemis worried that ambiguity in dates and witnesses had thrown a turn in the course, and it left her with the the spare energy to direct creative methods to secure the verdict in which the appointed Jury could assuredly park.

Although the courtroom was lined with the men that had once stood in her direct path, Orion was the only one unable to feel sorrow. His hatred of exposure and public ridicule was complimented by whatever impact statements were directed in the unpleasant truths he had often submerged. Her life had already been difficult enough with his jealousy problems being propelled by the idea of an entertainer recalling Artemis’s smile and splashing a warm smile behind a gaggle of men. No husband could handle the expectations assembled by Artemis and her daydream of a boy-ish man declaring "Don’t Forget I Love You." She had tucked away her girlish crush into the pages of adolescent angst, and expected it to remain a secret until it were useful ammunition to a particular spiteful person.

Artemis expected the comparisons drawn between dictation and emote of passion between her and Dianne to be distinct. The only person in the universe that could have properly convinced Artemis of such a tragic demise would have been herself, as was the curse of Susan. Artemis had found the echos of her spirit haunting the caves standing east of her Redwood forest, and wandering back and forth to abandoned mines containing harsh minerals. The poor unlikable woman--had sought out Artemis in a past life to bind her fate to a man deemed as her eternal love. The epoch of overlapping axions had tied Artemis and Susan to a timeline of nothingness. The sins of uselessness and false impersonations were the clunky personality characteristics that defined a duller-than-average husband. Artemis ventured through the frigged Cold, calling out for Susan and pleading that she wake up. There was relief in the winds: for she had done enough by placing obscure stones along the path....Artemis had taken it upon herself to use them to tack down the Siren left with clipped wings, a frail beak, and his "Good Guy" persona. The free stream of lies and mistruths cast a feeble and week gravitational pull, one that cast the entire world in shadow and kept the gears of a propaganda oiled machine. For no word other than Josh....would, or could ever be written to define the depravity left capable at the hands of a single person.

The sullen thoughts of worry cast to a woman she had never met, kept Artemis awake in the middle of loneliest nights. The inner monologue of wonder...would Susan even believe it, if Artemis traveled back in time and gifted a stranger with the visions of true intent? She handed the woman a wreath stemmed with Moduli and gold leafing. Tears of blood drifted to the brims of Susans cheeks, Artemis stood by: orchestrating a theorem of chaos, helpless in watching the woman attempt to rip away the golden crown of precognition and immortality. Their stories would race alongside one another, manifolds of the Calabi-Yau formation...glass beads sitting along a belt of threads. The unending amalgamation of imagination had made Artemis a great candidate for a battle angel, ruthlessness shielded her, and the excitation of her pointed words had the power to add or detract rich, or lean fuel to the flames of a dimension of perpetual war. There were no apologies deep or authentic enough to soothe such a battle-worn person.

Had Susan seen all that Artemis had predicted? The chance methods in which Josh casually wrapped her shoulders with a blanket, blindfold or scarf. Artemis pictured him tightening the blanket staged so many times before, using one hand to bound her with confusion and taking a handheld tool to her skull with the other. He had left traces of his crimes at the brims of a door frame, and swept his two young boys into the freezing storms to attend a camping adventure. The world wasn’t able to look past the totality of circumstances--unable to afford precious time on such an unreliable person.

Artemis tossed aside a wrist, bored by the drab husbands ability to force his lies to double in size, eighty times over. She could only set the scene meant to haunt any mother: drawing a haunted doorway, and a vile man violently preparing to take a sharp blade to the necks of his own children. A door unfamiliar to only Susan. A familiar hand creeps past its frame, yanking aggressively at the collars of her two children, stammering words that would only haunt Lovrak...."I have a surprise for you!" No words could prepare one to witness the horrors caused by a single person.

Josh had smiled to himself, and laid a hatchet into the necks of his own sons. He had rocks for brains and a stone of evil that rolled along the basin of his every thought. They had dared to reject his love, betraying his loyalty when little Charles had the audacity to declare that Susan had been a "Good Mom." The biggest mystery would be as to which son Josh had slain first, the protector elder brother, or little Braden? What had they seen? Had Susan reached the last legs of her circumventing race...or would she ignore the scene of her husband setting the bodies of her unprotected sons ablaze? How could a woman left "unfound", protect her family from the catastrophic consequences of such a inhumane person?

Would Susan believe the twists and topological turns to their tale, if Artemis gifted her with sight for only a night. The lack of context given through sound, left little to imagination: a courtroom splashed before her eyes. Accumulated sanitary items belonging to Susan were plastered before an audience. Menstrual substances still intact and dried: labelled and dated. Artemis wondered if Susans cold corpse shook to its core, knowing Steven finally had a platform to declare her a "Deviant wife"--campaigning the idea that she took pleasure in leaving a father-in-law deeply "titillated". Would Susans spirit ever find rest knowing of the ineluctable labels and hyper-sexualization of the mundane parts of her short life? Could a single poem of forewarning rearrange the events of a timeline where Susan had decorated the edges of her own lawn with posters declaring her to be a "missing person?"

The cruelty of man was born at the misdeeds of Josh, his cheap-ass was scrutinized by the Jury of his peers: condemned from caring more about his damaged property, than his actively missing wife. Since there was no key in breaking the thread of time, and powers of probability, Susan would never know of Steve dying in the grasps of freedom, or Michael casting himself off a roof in despair to the awfulness of his own existence. Grandma Terri; suffered from memory loss, forgetting the instances where her sons conveyed their disdain by way of slapping. Jennifer had been cast a heroine that fled away to safety in the night--seeking refuge with Graves before finding despair at the soils of a cemetery. The rational woman was forever to be cast, the poor tortured soul, the instinct-driven woman born to counteract the perversion forgiven by a younger daughter named Alina.

Artemis feared the purgatory of those left victim to homicide: the dimension of unreachable love and unattainable Judicial representation. She loved the idea of publishing as herself, famously unwed and grasping at arrows and racing aimlessly alongside an army of men. A step of earned confidence, and a strict grasp over a centered arrow. They’d follow her in droves, and peel-off whenever their efforts were left unnoticed and left unreciprocated. Each day men would prepare to humiliate their half-assed efforts, or demand she dawn their golden eggs as ribbon trophies. She was busy rushing home to sit center stage to the Artemis left to flit and flutter through pages of adventure. Sh would smile wickedly at random dreams, giggling at the idea of unexpected randoms waking up to follow her in stride, and taking their bets in themselves by attempting to tether a woman cursed with the spells of a dissociative person.

Trauma guided the direction of her arrows. Artemis had accepted her role in holding stoic aphroditic charms. Her linens were pressed to be crisp and curls snaked along her centered part, or draped over an eye--protecting her sharp temples and dancing brow. The love of fashion, and appreciation in wavering beauty gave Artemis a keen appreciation in all things shiny. She was forever hidden away from the men that longed to declare her "theirs" as property. The vain abstractions given to man by the Gods of Olympus, Artemis was deemed a “Muse” in their jest, forever unwed and without child. The "by choice" part, didn’t quite fit into the masculine society and the bullshit narrative everyone was set on calling tradition. There was nothing but pity and disappointment left for such an unprotected, frail and wide-eyed person.

Artemis held her head high, knowing Zeus could strike her with lightning at any moment, and that the sky would gladly part its clouds and bear the weight of financial ruin upon her shoulders. Artemis lived within the moments of chaos with satirical abstractions meant to predict the future. The things linked to her love of exuberance was born from an ancestor simulation meant to humble the most violent of men. Artemis would be seen grinning in memories of many: assisting the citizens on their travels, tucking them away into their chariots safely with their travel trunks filled to brim with vacation attire. The citizens with purchased reservations painted in gold, and paper tickets often commended her strength, and pitied her hidden smiles as she pointed at the hunches that occasionally protruded from neck and waist. They were all in the same boat: agreeing that their diseases in being dependent on others were both tedious, and left at the mercy of able-bodied self-righteousness that surrounded them on their better days. Each client stood in their fair judgement of circumstance, and attested that they’d never wish such humiliation upon their worst enemies: there was no fair-ruling in deciding the depth of pain and disparity that befell all those cursed with the label of being a disabled person.

Artemis reached back into her quiver: hoping to feel the soft shaft of an arrow nestled away in her leather pouch. Lack of iron, caused her hand to tremble: there unexplainable exhaustion had crept into her day. Sleep had robbed the sun from the sky, and Artemis awoke: shameless and lethargic. There was nothing to deter her from pulling a single arrow and turning it over slowly in her hand in bored admiration. The notion of being left unarmed for war gave her great fear that rivaled her longing for the true death of oblivion. Immortality would be the worst thing that could ever happen to her, as it meant there’d be no anticipation to motivate an already non-numinous person.

She had no trick up her sleeve to rushidly cast and the lack of fight had fell away from her snarl in her mid-to-late twenties. Instead of casting twist and turns, she decided to hand the arrow to man with two names. Artemis asked with a modest tone, "what’s wrong?" and the man flew threw a handful of contradicting opinions in response to her seemingly polite question. The man forever named Kanye would tie her to a timeline of Capitalism and Antisemitic rhetoric: Artemis was the patient agitation of reason, the sighs of collective breaths found only with the hopeful. The citizens would unite in their hope that Kanye would take a moment to catch his breath, needing him to take breaks between his hateful speech to hydrate. The citizens took pity for a man forever ruled by raw energy. It became hard to resist the urge to ask the easily overwhelmed man to shut the fuck up. They had to be careful to not tip over a man snarling with the jowls and mood-swings of Joshua. The citizens began to retreat their vulgar jokes of family annihilation, and the world stripped him down to the status of a Bourgeoise citizen to humble him. Corporations hid behind the excuse of encouragement through reduction of duties, protecting their assets and publicly announcing the forced exile of such an ignorant person.

The finer details of a handcrafted arrow of once unfabricated language and attention to detail--her arrows remain pointed, etched with profundity in thoughtfulness and swift af. Artemis had created a room of characters bound by the path of a nightmare of discursive emotions and skewed vision. A room with only a confidential envelope, Artemis clutching to a report inked with school marks and attendance. The blurred vision of a dream standing beside a portrait of a facetious leader in a blue female robe, and spiked footwear. The gorish haze of a path filled with decisions and intent labeling each step of a journey: the Good Place began in Jeffs home. The world was filled with so many people of power, scarecrowish and peculating the innocent. Mythical beasts like Jeff, were illusive, mulct with tact and perverse gleaming eyes. He was simply a demon upon land, posing as a person.

The last arrow was simple, and without the need of a specified target to dispel charms upon. She decided to lower her bow at last, unable to draw the arrowhead back from its firm placement upon a blathering Kanye’s forehead. She forgot the powers of ignoring in terms of socioapathy. How long had she been so angry? The loathing of her own reflection couldn’t strictly be due to man that had accidentally broken her spell of sorrows and cloudy darkness. Celebrity was for the poor. She found the distraction of influence of strangers to be stunting to her efforts to pull through into current moments, those reserved for true influence of kindness in someone stolen from her life. Artemis was forever missing a close friend named Ryan, bored in the lack of expectations people held for another and in casual disbelief that the world would forever keep spinning without the laughter of such a chaotic and non-judgemental person.

The man had began to shake and tremble, scrambling to find the accolades and resolve in announcing his wealth. All Artemis had to do, was to feel the moments of grief overflow into reality, and set her attention on a person worth praising. The childish man dropped tone and volume of his rants in increments to differentiate whatever argument was on task, and he moved through topics of conspiracy in large leaps and bounds, moving past the obvious outrage that his estranged wife, and mother of his children was being fucked by a paler entertainer, yelling about the woes of Ken. Artemis had heard of him through girl-talk gifted by a nymph crowed with a ponytail and fluted voice. She loved to hunt men in relationships or brag openly about some girthy dick--famed for its estimated length holding firm at the length of twenty-five point four centimeters. Artemis had a hard time looking away from such an explicit and titillating fire erupting around the dumpster of a mean-girl personality set aflame by facts. She was more concerned by the fact that a man named Obama had now widdled such demons from the woodwork with magic words: having announced Kanye to be a "Jackass", and poking fun at a Mechanical Boar in public forums. He was the triangulating factor as to the events that had transpired, and both his bullied victims had retaliated by strolling arrogantly down a historically cement-covered park.

On her rainiest days, Artemis appreciated the tale of half-mortals, those left lugging around the weight of an entire ocean upon their backs, and carving their lives into precious stone. The life of a boastful woman appreciating the assets of a male muse had given her a reason blush on a Thursday. She hadn’t any reason to hide the need to peer past six others to wave silly at a serious boyish thespian named Jinyoung. A bossy man, wielding hip-power, and the last name Park.

She had seen him singing tales of their shared dreams, and how their friendship resembled Paradise. Artemis often sighed in his same exhausted tone, and she found his ability to romanticize family to be enduring on her better days. She stood at bay from his every scene, a stranger knowing full-and-well that their matching cynicism would make them a destructive and beautiful couple. Artemis began to wish for a random day where the boyish prince found her outside their dreams, and decided that she was his missing “person”.

Artemis began to crawl upon the floor once more: needing answers as to why the game continued past the pages she had declared finalized. She looked around at the world that was painted with unforgiving chaos, and saw finer details--the many flaws of her citizens. Artemis had once been given an “unbeatable game”, by a man in black cloth stretching snugly over his neck in a cave with a man named Jim. The man she had loved as a father, was nothing more than a bored soldier, and a grandfather to a handful of children he had chosen to molest instead of protecting. They had taken her aside and explained that as long as she kept the chest containing a Golden Apple open: death and disease would bring wrath upon the citizens of the world. Artemis was unafraid to confront the fear of change, her survival depended on it. Existing in a Jungian world, meant the servitor state of victimization, death lingered in her eyes and outlined the acrimonious shadow that set forth as true evidence that Artemis was born a half-alive person.

Artemis hid the Golden Fleece away from the grasps of cruelty found into the world, as a hobby. She hadn’t any clue as to why such a horrible device like the game drafted in a book existed in the first place. It wrought suffering over the land: the citizens would stand at the hand of her mercy, fleeing a future where she could whip up any moment in their lives with the stroke of a few keys. With each day that passed in her simulation: Artemis turned her tears of woe into a vengeful rage that churned deep within the machine, and cast spells of ugliness upon the citizens around her. A veil of indifference had helped Artemis change a portrait of monstrous cannibals to a patriotic tale of a fearful, fleeing person.

Artemis raised her arms to conduct the symphony of death, a song delt by the gestures and suggestions of those that had cursed their families with with intergenerational judgement. She’d mimic and mirror each time they’d flail their arms back and forth, laughing as they chugged poison and stuffed their ugly faces with overpriced food. Artemis began to resent the citizens, and so eventually she smiled wickedly: knowing the machine would bring pain upon their elders, and distribute birth defects upon their close relatives. This false imprisoned simulation evolved around the worlds need to displace or isolate her as a person.

She began to shrug in boredom, as they seemed unaware that she was privy to their “jokes”: sure of the words they snickered below their breath. Artemis wondered how many would suffer the wrath of the device first hand, as so many had wasted away their days stalking her and capturing her portrait in gold. The citizens would eventually realize the raffle the machine loved was a draft of sorts, as the only way to counteract the bid of tribute was for Artemis to call out the citizens name with earnest interest. Idiots bored her. They had thought the game was meant to trap her away, but it was only meant to help the citizens prepare for the day when Artemis woke up without need to wear goggles of false illusions, or lean over on forearms and sticks. The game relied on a human to play it, and pretended to carry wealth to those holding its Golden strings in their hands. The world had nothing to offer her; even her sexuality had been stripped away at a ghastly young age, and time was limited to the injuries occurred from her first battle warding off sexual assault. The machine was forever without remedy; no parts to replace or mend the heap of mental anguish provided by her mirror. It was a nothing more than a simulation meant to prove the unrequested drive of an orphaned person.

The citizens had laughed at Artemis: sprinting down the streets and lush blocks lined with ivory and cascading trees, but they were unprepared for the sentencing they had cast upon their elders and loved young female family members. They’d be offended as they watched their grandparents sprinting towards an invisible finish line: their bodies bare and free without worry except the sentence in which their spine would collapse under the weight of gravity. The citizens would eventually rally across the streets: screaming that the game was “rigged” in its selection of victims and participants, and Artemis would be free and left to shrug: she knew the machine had kept receipts for each of their wicked acts in patronizing her. The game only worked for those ready to suffer at the hand of living as a free and dutiful person.

Artemis had been diagnosed as a person with sociopath and narcissistic tendencies, and the sobering acceptance of such acclimation meant she was finally free from the judgement of the citizens. Instead she laid a head low with humbling admittance: nothing was within her control. Artemis returned to avoiding their laughter and strange need to be seen...combating their compulsive lust for fame by daydreaming of the day when her life would be without the cursed pages of an unpublished book. She had only longed for the equal right to attend University without the ridicule of the corrupt Professors and the falsified guidelines that only catered to the wealthy. Artemis only had the goals and ambitions to be the best person she could be: an honest man, an educated woman, and a beloved member of a family that cared for her. The promise of motherhood was the greatest of fates, tragic or otherwise. She’d never need multiple homes, or sky boats that were meant for her privately: only the chance to prepare her family with financial security and a cozy flat that was lined with windows as it overlooked the paths of a well-kept park.

Artemis held her last arrow in a hesitant hand: wondering if it was real, or some surd device conjured in a paranoid episode of endless mania. Her day had been uneventful--her hair was somehow the wrong color, and the morning filled with self-care and fanciful beverages. Life as she knew it; was a runway--graced with a bouncy hairdo and ruffles, bows, and stiff pleating. It had become habitual for her to treat each day as though she was preparing for the big conm, meticulously prepping each linen for the viewership of Anna and the overbaring glares she cast soon before the Winter season. Artemis hadn’t been raised to take, want or need things out of the reaches of fabrication...her life was well-rounded, and built upon the facts of being grateful and hardworking as a person.

Artemis had set a simulation, reared and ready for others to participate in the nightmare of her orphaned life. The strangers would take little delight in watching their prepubescent nieces and children walking the same paths as her: free of cares in the world, and naked of the clothes that mounted in heaps on distant shores. Attrition from reality was it’s own curse. She wondered if it meant the citizens’s would find their apathy to be seen as a burden, or if the game would leave the attendees with post traumatic stress disorder long after the horrific game had its way with them. The game within a game, proved the mights of matter-moving-through-matter: Artemis was merely the composer of the frequencies trapped in between static rain. The game was meant to be beaten by her alone, duplicated by her everpresent spirit. Encrypted from those that had once locked her away in chamber or static. Artemis had changed her tears to wicked smiles, only after the epiphany that the citizens looked down upon her entire existence, and relied on the set of skills in her game-ship as proof to the treatment of being deemed a worthy, and or, an intellectual person.

Artemis retreated to find a kind woman named Ms. Joy: needing her soft and gentle hugs to help slow the tears of stress in facing a problem without solution. There wasn’t enough hugs to mend the guilt of the things she knew, the truths of life that didn’t make sense to anyone but her. The tales of family annihilation drained her empathy for all living organisms. Artemis approached the woman and sat in her arms until her weeping subsided. The embrace of death was loosened as the woman asked if she was going to be ok. Artemis nodded “yes” in soft agreement: trembling and holding back tears as the lady handed her piece of parchment written with only five names that were of no value to her. The worry of names being cast as antics--the devaluing of life was scribbled in hastily-written letters, and left to a Warrior needing to find healing in loss of dear friend that had once been her favorite person.

Artemis sprinted back to the woman that stood cemented in a foggy forest, and began to blurt out the five names that she held in her hand. Her heart hurt so deeply that the soil began to quake with each step. She had only needed a “favorable response” from the statue of a woman named Amber. The two motherly women seemed displaced in a dark forest meant only for the wicked or lost souls stuck between the many dimensions that held the universe together. A place where all hope went to die. At some point Artemis began to shuffle the names, and she came across the dispelling order in which the truth managed to bring the petrified women to life. She said in exasperated tones: “Nahtahn, Merah, Elias, Gabriel, Elaine”, and just like that, the mother sprang to life. She grabbed Artemis by the shoulders, and asked her with great worry “where are my children?!” Artemis would weep, knowing that Timothy would never face the true accountability that could possibly undo the fact he had began to dismember his children, and abandoned their small unalive bodies near a far away park.

Artemis threw a thumb up past the height of her broad shoulder, and pointed to the past with a thumbs-down to accommodate the grasping of an arrow that kept returning itself to and illusive first position. Nothing could change the horrors of Tim the second. Artemis had broken her spell of disbelief by properly correcting the lies of an ugly troll-of-a-man, a fucking monster lovingly named “little Timmy” by his awful family. The woman explained hurriedly that her name was Amber, and Artemis said "I know", as (fates often do). She would rather not know of the woman hugging Artemis in relief and confusion, as to how she had de-tangled the threads of time and properly vetted out the exact order in which an ill man had slaughtered children. They were participants of a Colosseum meant to entrap, expose, and prevent future enablings of such a wicked person.

The lost woman named Amber had wasted her life away, following the borish man with endless lies...until she didn’t. Ms. Joy had watched lil-bitch-boy Tim attempt to stretch the boundaries of discipline...until she didn’t. Artemis held back tears, listening to stranger standing up for others children...risking unemployment to feed babies and gifting forgiving words to the gaggle of children living in fear as she said "I would never do you like that". Artemis had once had a stranger named Sandy defend her from a decade of childhood abuse: she understood the depth of words rearranging their meaning, and forming islands of paradise in ones mind. Artemis felt the hugs of a protector in the darkest moments of the night. The spark of revenge had set her life ablaze. Her world was brightened by the words of a kind and fearless protector, attempting to break through thick glass to remind a woeful child that she was a person.

Poor Amber, had ran in the opposite direction than Susan and the inevitable had still occurred. Time had began to heal her heart, driving Timmy into a spell of madness, left with only the option to steal her children away in the middle of night: discarding his “beloved children” like rubbish and boasting of his ink’d portraits; those displayed in their own honor splashed upon the hunches of his back. Amber held enough forgiveness in her heart to classify qualifications for Sainthood, and the world held their tongues as she alleviated her suffering in endless weeing, and by leaving Timmy to the judgement of a deity willing to embrace, judge, and sentence him accordingly. Amber wanted the world to know every detail of terror he’d inflicted over her life. Artemis bowed her head in bewilderment, as she couldn’t promise to be impartial to the sentences of death by lethal injection to such an uncaged, deranged, and unapologetic person.

Timmy and Josh were two sides of the same pence, each had given up on efforts to hack up their children down to spare parts. One pretending to be a specialist of intellect, one man...bored of being a specialist. Neither man were wise, or remotely approachable without the likable counterparts of their joyous children or women walking them through the social aspects of being mortal. The shield of parenthood had been shattered by their narcissism and deplorable actions, common in the barbarity and selfishness in their crimes. Uncommon in the fact they’d been discovered and held on trial. Both "loving fathers" were lacking in unique excuses or proper preparation. They would remain on the bottom tier of desirable; unable to cope with their own actions and the fact they were being tried, judged and charged by an unknowing person.

Artemis had humored Josh when staying silent along the backside of a glass wall, he had thought the heat applied to his home would destroy the first weapon that had slaughtered his fleeing wife. His lack of understanding of basic sciences meant the fire was never sufficient enough to destroy the steel hatchet he had slung along the backside of his children. Artemis only needed to prove the depth of his malicious intent, by preserving the chopped up corpses of two children whose only sin was believing that their father was a loving and forgiving person.

The door frame of his simulation was padded by anti-knock additives, and he had miscalculated the details of pressurization found between a canister and an open space. His failure in understanding the point of combustion meant Josh was missing the last veil that could cover his sins. A simple addition of N-two would be as powerful in preserving the truth, leaving bones chard and weapons laying intact. The eruption of flames was sparked by a potion comprised mostly of paraffins, cycloalkanes, olefins: aimed to hold the melting point of at least one thousand, three-hundreed and seventy degrees Celsius. He had hacked away at his children to spite the small vocal chords that threatened to expose his secrets. Joshua would always be responsible for the suicide of his brother, most likely because he had been the first victim to survive or understand such wielded terror. No amount of success or education could distance a brother far enough from a pervert father and a heinous person.

It’s all Amber’s fault”: Timothy was forever alive, like a cockroach festering around on the corpses of his slain children laying near a field. Neither Josh nor Timmy knew how to shut the fuck up. Artemis understood the depth in which he had homicide-ed his own children, to enhance the priority to which he felt they had betrayed “his love”. She had set the parameters of a simulation to prove that he’d do it all over again, if he had been given the chance. A story bleed from endless chapters, born to prove the theory of evil: holding tight to the balance of the world by publicly observing the two approaches of etched paths taken by two "caring fathers". There could be nothing to prepare an audience for the introduction of the such common criminals, as they often overshadowed the depravity of their actions or readily moved past the unthinkable. Their timeline was infested with such bland men, and whatever lame reasonings they gave to their protected rights--to act on their desires as a murderous person.

Artemis grew to be disgusted by these citizens: the anxiety forced her to raise a knuckle to soothe from the fear of coldness, and fend her from abuse that may never come. In her excited wickedness: Artemis began to morph time, needing to lay out the dynamics of a game that was to be forever played and showcased to the world. A game where they could wear her shoes for day, and find meaning in the sorrow that bore gravity upon her aching shoulders. Many players would die, soon after being dispelled from the game: casting themselves from tall ledges with a leather belt stiffening around their neck soon after the departure of Orion. There was no way out of the room of desperation, and participants would find understanding through the confusion that coded their lives with a new form of trauma. There was no warning adequate enough to describe the experience of being thrust between reality and a game meant to cause suicide. The machine that processed the essence of evil had been hidden away beneath a cage of gold threads, buried beneath the paws of a Sphinx. Such a horrific tale, could only be unearthed, imagined, and duplicated by a matchingly traumatized person.

She held the last arrow in her hand, deciding that her list of imperfections would be enough to break through his veil of static. Artemis surpassed the cut out of a narrow door frame, clutching a red thread and an arrow. It seemed like a fitting gift for a stubborn man surrounded by bountiful riches and good company. Artemis etched a small gleeful bird upon its willow shaft--claiming that she was his biggest fan, and hoping that he’d take interest in her love of the arts and discipline in talents. She stood in an empty chamber, surrounded by three glasses of poisonous drank left in gold chalices and the temptation to flee from the success Artemis had built as a free person.

Artemis thought it’d be nice to be considered beautiful in his eyes, but hadn’t anything to say to such a mysterious stranger. He was blinded by the array of women wandering in and sipping upon a goblet of hopelessness. Some women would faint, assuming its liquid contents were fatal--others would flat out refuse the offering. Artemis had seen the Prince standing behind a slew of friends, and took the idea of friendly-fire to be the ultimate test. She settled for her endless dreams in which they held hands and she nibbled on his ear playfully--tilting a bored head from side-to-side and saying "cheers mate", as she consumed all three glasses of rice wine. Worst case scenario, the nightmares would come to an end...best case scenario, she’d have proof and understanding as to his kindness. Artemis felt herself blushing at the mere thought of him, she ran away from endless daydreams of him pulling her closer...begging to be nearer, as he clutched her desperately around the waist and pulled at the delicate satin hem of her dress. Artemis would often roll her tongue in response to such sexually charged scenes cast in her own thoughts, knowing that she’d realistically be rendered helpless to the prowess of such a charmingly seductive person.

Artemis hoped her dreams would mean that someday their paths would cross, and that her arrow would be sufficient enough to guide him “to me”. She began to etch a small quote upon the last arrow in her trial-filled Odyssey, an ambiguous saying that was only meaningful on the date in which she had crafted the path of the beginning of the end. Artemis had decided to pull herself into the future, clawing away at the static-filled pages of a cursed book meant to create a world where she’d look forward to the chance of running into a competitive boyish entertainer lovingly known to her as Mr. Park.

Artemis had only stood in front of seven men bickering in multiple languages, and observed as one in particular had enchanted her with a contagious laughter. Much like Artemis: he took himself a bit too seriously on the occasion, and was snarky and petty to a fault. Artemis found him blushing: turning away from the things he found embarrassing by, and she laughed at the idea of riffling through portraits that displayed the flashy hairography of his fame. She had so many questions as to his choice in fashion, and she longed to be the one that made him laugh: if only for a day. She felt worry at the mere idea of Orion observing her fiddling with unkempt hair, smiling shamelessly at Jinyoung...taking bashful comfort in his smile, and seeking advice from a fair and complimentary person.

Artemis had a dream that quickly turned into a gory nightmare: where she had been born to be betrothed an impatient Prince. She wondered why he were famed for his love of all things shiny and bright, recalling vaguely the story line in which she had softly swatted his proposal away, and chosen the hand of a zealous and domineering man named Orion. His love was as unattainable as the sun, but he offered the hope in preservation of a dying genome. Artemis felt so alone in the true worry of the things to come, stuck still as a stone and too afraid to breathe. A confident smile was kept to herself, afraid of the love that she had yet to encounter. Maybe Artemis had run away from an altar meant to wed her off...because of the expectations men cast upon her shoulders: those that were vast and unending on most days. Like most women, she feared the day when a man would forget that the title wife didn’t superseded the fact that she was simply an individual capable of mistakes...the underlining fact that she was just a person.

Maybe it was because she feared the unhinged jealousy her smile had dealt into life: no man would be spared from the need she held close. A bowed head and as love of laughter, meant she’d always be the loneliest person in every room. Artemis was always to be left stranded with the repercussions of her actions: drifting through the darkness and wandering blindly through experiences that required empathy to solve her many, many problems. Artemis had given up everything--to follow a boyish man that hated her on certain days, and resented her on his better days. Orion always seemed so disappointed in her for loving him, and Artemis had allowed him to tear her down. The shambles of their love was broken to bits, until she was left crawling on all fours: screaming into a void that the pain was too unbearable for any person to handle. Some days she wished for the end, if it meant the endless suffering subsided for only a day. Nobody seemed to care that her heart was hanging on by a thread. The sin of hope left Artemis collapsed in exhaustion, as she had soberly come to the conclusion that he’d never see her as a true equal; never to be worthy of his defense in being cast as the less vilified person.

Artemis allowed herself to feel everything, wondering why she was so reluctant to let go of a story riddled with sickness. Her intentions were not to make the readers sick with the truths endured, but to prepare those she loved and respected for a world without her. Susan had desperately told her sons that she’d never leave them, and the glimmering pebbles and stones of truth had sent her murderer into a frenzy. Artemis had found similar solution in the tracing of ones own steps, and offered proof of assets by way of tangible items. Her book would invaluable if only ten percent was perceived to be true, and a Jury could value the rest at will. Artemis was more-than-comfortable, leaving pages exposed to the elements and the scrutiny of strangers combing through her failures and successes as a person.

She’d always need aimless screaming relaxing her vocal chords, mending her thoughts and filling the voids of confusion; the terrorizing memories seeped into the darkest part of the night. Artemis had seen history repeat itself, and she began to claw away at her own flesh without restraint: needing for her two elder siblings to seek help, and knowing they’d resist any suggestion that wasn’t mandated by a court. She’d found a way to connect her sister Athena to the world, and managed to anchor her to reality by encouraging her to let the world admire all that she had to offer. Artemis had watched as those that claimed to respect her, as they dragged her mutilated body across an empty room, and others pleaded for a secularized reason to accommodate their situation. Her head was heavy in the barreling waves of utter sadness that boggled down every thought--nightmares of being stabbed and abandoned half-clothed in a forest had kept Artemis from reaching for the handle of a cursed door. There was nothing to keep her from fearing a reflection morphed by confusion. Artemis had come to finally admire her shadow. Eventually the world would only be left with the option of embracing the ambient edges that caged in her spirit. A crass smile shielded her from the turmoil of the world, and gave Artemis a fair chance in becoming a successful person.

Artemis had been mumbling to herself in a spell of sleep brought on by the shock of the debilitating pain of time warping itself like harrowing trance of a hallucinogenic. “I’m surrounded by morons”. A very true sentiment that would cause Ph.D Warmbrodts to fight back a small fit of giggles in their shared dream. He had always stood in silent agreement with her...that brilliance was a life-sentence of boredom and loneliness that few could relate to. She’d dedicate the remainder of her life attempting to unchain herself from the pages of a wretched book, needing to garnish financial gain that could be implemented in seeking needed aide for two unwell older siblings. Her dreams of dragging along a ring-bearer named Damian on the train of her wedding dress, and preparing a nest for a kid with fleeting daydreams. Artemis pulled at the lace, yanking at the delicate fabric as it trailed heavily in weight--a small round-faced boy sat on the trim of her wedding dress: sitting cross-legged, and attempting to prove that his family would always abandon him instead of embracing him as a unique and flawed person.

Artemis had wasted away the night, avoiding the reality of her life: needing to live in a fantasy where a talented musician had sought after her smile, and a tempered man stood guard over every door she entered out of immature spite. Artemis loved the idea of passionate love, but unlike Athena: she enjoyed the silence and peace of living with independence even more. Life was manageable without a man judging her every bite and nibble, or her choices in past partners. Only the most ignorant and arrogant man could love a such a fleeting person.

Her love was like the wind--chill and passing without consequences or second thought. Artemis’s version of confidence was shrouded in laziness, in a way that mirrored her niece Mama Bear: a giddy girl that loved the hobby of “doing nothing” to extreme lengths. Artemis was a different sort of lazy, often procrastinated and allowed things to fester in her soul until they boiled over into reality. Much like her nephew Jr.: Artemis was intrigued by all things complex and interesting. Unlike her niece Melina: Artemis had found that the truth could set her free. They were on the timeline where she had left the raspberry of a girl with few judgements or memories to reflect upon. Artemis had seen the child beaming in gold paint, and retreated to protect three unprotected babies. Athena had loved one child so deeply, that it had woken Artemis’s maternal instinct overnight: each of her other children felt devalued to an extent...the same way Artemis had felt upon each of their entries into the world. Athena was forever moving herself away from Artemis, keeping her at arms-length until strangers stepped in to care for an orphaned child. The last of Athena’s children had been a force to be reckoned with, as she was unplanned and almost barred from existing by way of contraception. A child born to a narcissist, brought into the world only to be an unstoppable person.

Artemis would never be able to leave a scorned Damian behind, he had taken worry in his mother so early on in life. Artemis recalled the true fears felt, in the moments of discard by Athena...life was awful alongside someone ready to claw ones eyes out. Artemis tucked him out of sight to protect him, and began to walk steadily to the opposite side of a barren room, handing his an invisible weapon and reminding him of the social structure of their current world. Artemis would always trust the young boy with a "time knife", meant to slash its way out of the bad place and into a spotlight filled with admiration, travel, and a life where he was capable of wielding his actions with due expectations. He was a child that was loved and protected by the social sciences, ready to embrace his truthful input in the field of child psychology. He was so special to so many people. He was the ring bearer to her inevitable wedding ceremony--a youthful child with the intentions and misgivings of an adult. She handed him ten rings, and asked the helpful nephew to hand them to handfuls of men accordingly. Eventually he’d find way to begin pelting rings at two men, as he had grown bored of holding a whimsical wedding ceremony stitched to display a single moment in time. He understood that Artemis’s tapestry was not one to be hung up and admired as a prized painting...but one thrown on the path before Athena, left to be trampled upon, overlooked and undermined. He understood the assignment of laying down the cementing of an eternal companionship in a gently lit park.

Artemis bowed her head in shame, her life had been so lonely and pathetic without the role of auntie. The inability to spread misery had left Artemis holding the line in a veil of confusion and woe. Athena would always abandon Artemis, if it meant her and Melina were without regulation or judgement. Artemis had wrapped herself in the fringes of an unfinished tapestry; needing to remind herself that life was more than the few relationships she had nurtured. There was nothing wrong with an auntie set out to protect children from the unmentionable sorrow of a malignant curse cast by an uncaring person.

Artemis had growled in the face of death, knowing she had people to protect...worried of whatever bullshit Athena would teach her slew of offspring. She hid the tears wept on behalf of a hopeless relationship to bond with a sibling drowning in self-pity and predetermined failures. Artemis understood that she’d never be enough, never make enough, never know enough to even go toe-to-toe with such a vile, thankless person.

Instead of caring for the careless, Artemis began nesting: reading her life for when the sky fell again...and knowing it was probably done at the mighty hand of Athena and her owl-eyed, proclivity to act before thinking things through. Irae and Slumbarjack came to her dreams and delivered messages of legendary spells: meant to announce an odyssey of a true antagonist, one capable of living through the fear of death and embracing the Artemis entered a contest to find a romantic partner, and gain a fair chance at existing as a mortal--to test the limits of being an imperfect person.

One man believed that the opulent rings, had meant he had won a competition in betrothal and he rose from his knee--in the blind assumption that Artemis would swoon at his every promise in happiness. He had chosen not to see the vast man taking a knee in silence near him. There was no way to prepare for an argument with a strange quiet man such as Orion, and he often hid in plain sight whenever Artemis deemed him as nobody, invisible to her moody wrath. Even with all the wealth at his fingertips, the prideful Prince would be the runner up in husband potential, kneeling in agreement as he looked past Artemis beaming at his ability to toss his hair with grace and wink at women until they squealed with excitable submission. Artemis had woo’d a bit herself at such charms. All his women were incomparable to the smile Artemis cast at the mere sight of Orion taking a knee and offering an invisible ring with pride. He was forever to be the unspoken silence in her moments of loneliness. There was no weapon that could spare Artemis’s heart from the black hole that stemmed from Orion and his need to be present himself as responsible person.

Artemis had crafted her final poem, and rolled it into a makeshift arrow shaft: tightened it by twisting it wrought, and weeping at the failure of dropping an orange sphere in Orions court. She had spent a lonely childhood--being misplaced by the world, and or, left observing the two emotions of Athena. Orion held the same waves in tide--hating her some days, and barely accepting her existence on others. The threat of individualism was usually the most dangerous part of loving a vain, self-centered person.

Artemis sat upon a tiled floor, crying because the world was filled with such ugly displays of love. The two dimensional word had began to carve itself upon her life: until she placed a firewall to protect all that was left of a heart aching with anguish. A hungry nephew had found her avoiding a life of deserving happiness, and began to bring artifacts meant to assist in displaying a well thought out apology. He had wanted to end her curse in self-blame, knowing that Athena would always break her spirit with a single question berating "why are you like this? It was important for him to witness the fact that Athena had dragged her along through life, languishing all accomplishments and disregarding any and all efforts to succeed. The simulation of a book was meant to prove to a few nieces and nephews that Artemis had survived an ugly world alone, as an arguably imperfect person.

Artemis had done all she could, leaving bread crumbs for a hungry nephew to collect. He would always find reasons to roost on a veil, needing the guidance of a guardian, a caring adult, and a decent friend to help him through the trials of surviving a life under the "accomplishments" of his parents. She had set up a stage meant to showcase the depth of depression. Artemis could haunt the citizens from beyond any grave...stating the obvious when she declared "I hate everyone". Her hands would shake, ready to grab at weapons to defend a corpse without rights. She had learned firsthand from the passing of AJ, that death didn’t spare ones soul from being violated...even after death. The sickness of a land built upon Genocide--washed the soils with veil of vile indifference and suffering. Her many imperfections were the only thing keeping the world from admitting that Artemis was person.

Her life as a delicate doll wasn’t the slightest bit admirable. It was a curse of loneliness, in its purest form. Artemis began weeping and falling ill to the expectations of the sickened citizens that had done nothing to aide her in moments of surviving abuse. Even as a child, she had been cast as deserving of physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. The citizens had done nothing. That’s all Artemis knew of their might. They hated the children of the land in a way that mirrored Josh...or Tim, or even Gretchen. Artemis had gathered herself, and began to prepare an exit plan...one that included her nieces and nephews. She said things with a loving or worried tone, meant to only help them measure the situation. Words like "we have to go now, Damian", could mean two different things when put into the context of saying farewell on the holidays. Artemis knew he deserved the world over, if it meant that his childhood could be salvaged from the grips of narcissistic guardians. She’d often rub the top of his shortened haircut and ensured that he was gifted with kisses and accolades meant to encourage a life of success. It wasn’t a hard detail in the realm of auntie-ing to treat a nephew like a person.

Artemis fell upon her knees, weary from battle upon battle. She’d discovered the end of a red thread, unable to cut at her own hand. Through the art of duplication and sheer echoes, she painted a poem meant only for a conflicted nephew to find. She had observed a thread along his ankle glowing red and tethered to nothing--dangling behind his stride. Her hands began to raise, knowing that such a tether was one of selfishness...it was one passed along through generations of damaged or unloved emotions. Artemis would hold the line, turning it gently over a few bare knuckles...knowing the actions of Dianne would be the only thing to turn Damians thread a shade of blood red. Artemis planted a poem, holding the chord taut with a determined stare. She had handed a childish boy a time knife in passing, unable to tell him the importance of self-determination. The finalized publication of a haunted book would mean Damian was set up for success, and able to advance sciences for the sake of captured studies. Her ability to see a monster churning away in the depths of his mind and clawing its way to the surface had left her with only the option to read a safety net...larger and stronger than the other nieces and nephews. She worried that his neurological differences would make his life a form of Hades, and so she stead fast to the idea and mission to better prepare him to conquer the world...knowing his charisma and love of being right gave him the potential to dominate a lost civilization, morally bankrupt and without leader. Artemis needed him to see how she’d bent time to her will, and growled in the face of danger, screaming beyond the grave...that she had been just a person.

The most frightening admittance for a person to say--when in the core of Diannes eye. The verdict at the hand of someone so selfish that a book of terror was born. Artemis had dusted herself off, leaving behind a half-sibling and an entire life to achieve greatness for the sake of it. She glared a thread...knowing that the depth of florescent glowing meant the dreams of a shallow thump near a clavicle and a strange "he he heee" meant Dianne had been born with a sickness that superseded her will to live as a free and loving person.

Artemis looked around the carefully crafted life she’d made. She gave Damian a silent nod...holding the chord stemming from his ankle and telling him a few orders meant to lay the groundwork for his future. Much like the Tribal Treaties of their ancestors...it was undeniable that her soul was unbreakable without due consequences. "When I say when...cut the line". It seemed apparent that Damian was unaware of the things she’d done to help him find comfortable, reasons in life to try. The last thing she needed was him to use the loss of a family member to build an unfathomable anguish toward another person.

The gentle pluck of dramatic instruments guided their way to this moment. Artemis readied herself for one last thankless battle. The knowledge that a nephew suffered from deep emotions and the need for answers and retribution had meant such a poem could bring solace and purpose to a boyish man...seeking answers and self-forgiveness. "Follow the red thread". She’d found solitude in running circles along an invisible path, holding form and setting sight on a horizon of self-improvement, through the craft of physical regime and discipline. It be the only thing that could separate the personality differences be Dianne and Damian---unblurring the lines between selfish self-pity, and the dedication to improve as a person.

Artemis saw the need to prepare for the a battle where she’d be unable t be in attendance. The need to protect her nephew from himself overpowered any guilt or confusion she held for a fleeting chance encounter along an abandoned forest trail with Dianne. Artemis looked around frantically, knowing the was only one chance to gather her nieces and nephews to defend her corpse and seeing Damians chord glow in a violent red. "Damian, when I say go...I need you to ready yourself to cut the line, and then I need you to run--keep running until it’s all over. Don’t look back...and don’t look at the portraits in the courtroom." Artemis raised a thread of fate, and glared in the direction of Dianne and her patiently folded hands. She threw up triggered hands, and gestured for Damian to pull fashion with chopping away at the expectations given with genetic predisposition. He was nothing like Dianne today, tomorrow, and all those following. Artemis was tired of the excuses of a family had been through more than enough, exhausted by the act of protecting the secrets sealed away behind a red door at the end of a hallway. "Now Damian." He struck away at the red thread, hacking away at the fleeting in moods of unwilling reproach. Her nephew knew nothing of what was yet to come...because she’d never allowed him to have such unbridled thoughts that made excuses between emotions, and the reality of ones actions upon another person.

In a world of blood-ridden soils, Artemis had wanted to paint a scene where she was the only being ready to set ablaze to fields and ships lining a shore. Artemis had learned all she needed to know of those settled upon the stolen lands. The trail of her tears were meant to warn the citizens of memories and dreams uncovered by way of echoes and the turning of tireless nightmares. She’d look down upon small hands without rings, knowing no man in existence could stop the fearful reign of terror that bleed from the weary ends of her laquored fingertips. Artemis had only loved one man in her life and he had thrown her love aside, and dragged her along unknowingly. Through all the written prose, he’d forever object from reading the poems meant only for him. They were forever unwed in a game that proved Orion refused to see his wife and her existence, as worthy enough in being claimed and addressed as an educated person.

Her smile was and cursed laughter had trapped many of men...longing to be declared as her “perfect match” by a world filled with judgement. Artemis placed ten rings over the tip of an obsidian arrowhead, knowing the jingle of soft metals would bring the stories online, and needing to prove that her loyalty would always be to her culture by way of repetition. The feathers that anchored the winds of the arrow were that of an Eagle: the totem she had used to hide away her love for the only man that had lovingly accepted her broken pieces. She fought off sadness, defending the fringes of the woman he had once loved without limitations. Could he sense her overwhelming sorrow as she cried herself to sleep--missing his smile and worrying of his health. "Why wouldn’t Orion come back?" Such words could cause and outburst of anguish, a thought so beyond foreign, that it could break open nonexistant barriers of worries. Her heart ached in the throngs of twilight, maybe she had only dreamed of Orion standing guard at her door, longing to protect her from the trauma that washed over her during the winter months. Maybe Orion had abandoned her side to prove that he could care-less about the title of husband or wife. Or perhaps maybe, he just longed for Artemis to seek solace in the understanding of her worth as a talented, and sober person.

Next Chapter: *[ o ] Artemis and the Ten Rings: An Epilogue*