Presiding over a trail covered by tears, Artemis walked along a timeline in pursuit of a destiny fit for a champion. A stroll turned into a sprint, following a short conversation with a Ghost named Orlandi. The woeful spirit was restless, chained to a conclave between dead and alive; forever prisoner to a cannon of endless probabilities. The man was chained to a web of extreme socio-material, a forgotten precious gem left overshadowed by otherly priceless treasure. Artemis sat at his side, weeping for the circumstances of his tragic loss being cached to preservation in a tomb comprised of static. The man had once claimed to treasure his faith and honor in servitude, and was humbled by the kidnapping of his daughter. Artemis promised to return with information to confirm the betrayal of those he served, and to expose the forgetful monster.

The pluriverse was intertwined by extreme dedication to antediluvian, a world unveiled by the sloppy trails of a Mechanical Boar. Artemis always found the tener of such entities of veneration to be questionable, the edifices of con lingered as a pungent smell for miles. Artemis wondered if the Boar strode alongside a thick-ended Hydra out of confusion to its perfected method of dynamism. Maybe the Boar had wanted tips in proper tail cleaning channels, minus the "interlocking object" part. The Boar had wanted future reinvestment to outweigh his indebtedness, whereas, the Hydra had only wanted reasons to press control delete on all thoughts or questions towards their blessed oblation. The starry-eyed citizens had long been a victim to the grotesque depravity of religious arcanum, and the reign of the early eighty’s was defined by a semi-washed number scribbled upon a piece of scroll. The words two-hundred B meant nothing to everyone, all alas, those bearing responsibility for the entirety of the pantheism. They were the collateral damage to the lusts bestowed upon a sprinkle of individuals, burrowed into the threads of society. The monster was forever indebted to their own con, left dispelling lectures with averse spells and disinformation. Forever pulling an agenda to protect the few actions of a desperate pedophile.

She had observed the man leading the parade, the ineffable might of the Holiest of men. He directed the frail tip of his golden rod into the flurried winds of geopolitical outrage, wielding distraction and allowing the beast to find fulfilling arousal whenever innocent people touched a snake-laced staff: evidently the aging Shepard had hidden a castrated Golden penis inside the walking stick to build compliance. Direction through public responses and protection from external threats, was all the aging man had to offer an less-than-sympathetic pedophile.

How had Artemis stumbled across such a beastly sundry of deviousness? The once omniscient Hydra had been whimpering to the wounds imposed by time, noting the distorted despotism causing static in its once-efficient curses. She had mended a lame foot, said little, and forgave the beast with a compendium of matching offenses. The patient was no different than those committed by the latest offense gifted by a smiling emanation, draped in blaring shades of red and yellow. Artemis wasn’t surprised to have witnessed the godly vessel, throwing manipulative fuels over the audiences that witness his crimes on a public stage...suggesting that a child "suck" his tongue. Her curses of indifference-beyond-indifference had, granted Artemis with a life free from crippling guilt, or the chances of collated theft of wages via social anxiety. Artemis was able to stand side-by-side with such a beast, armed with only a single sheet of parchment. A unerring prediction as to why she had been impacted by violent environment, an undocumented fulcrum where the outcome was either the diagnosis shadowing a monster, or one of hiding from the baneful reflection of a monster.

Artemis was forever unmovable in her commitment to press past the things without resolution. Her belief in self was the meer to mankind, an homage to the will of identity. This had been the final take, in a game with endless outcomes and responses, allowing for Artemis to approach the steps of the gaudy house with grace. The plebeian lifestyle made her less-than-extraordinary in a world of vast wealth inequality. Artemis hid behind common complaints, and held a heart light to rear confusion in all she met. There were no apology needed for a woman facing an early death, suffering from a curved spine and "abandoned faith". She had found solitude with scientific facts, and lay her woes into a series of ephemeris-laced poems...they had given her the strength to approach a slimy beast with many faces in an unorthodox manner. Artemis had no problem with appearing crass, and so she comfortably begin casting a small pointed finger...demanding that the interchanging dominant heads find reasons to pull up their floor boards, and comb through their tax-exempt catacombs. The vagueness of veiled words could make or break a timeline hanging in the balance. She was in search of the corpse of a kidnapped girl that was last trafficked to a cold monster.

The Hydra was paralyzed by fear, trading upon records forgotten to time, or bodies disclosed to elders ready to defend the cause. Artemis was always perplexed by the availability to excuse recent history, even when those accountable were very much alive and able to receive just sentences for crimes inflicted upon humanity. She had seen written stories, describing bodies being tossed in mass graves, rotting in unmarked ditches. The antiquated monster had made an agreement with the Democratic leaders, those born long before Artemis had caught scent of their trail of despair. They had done nothing while the Hydra kidnapped children, weaponizing the citizens as contracted bounty hunters and stripping families from a future of belonging. The Hydra had gathered the Indigenous Warriors, marking them with serial numbers that claimed them to be prisoners of war and participants of a eugenics program. The Hydra had gotten away with such comparable atrocities in a multitude of dimensions, except the one that produced evidence of what the beast did while left "unmoderated". That was this timeline, Artemis’s simulated world. The precognitive act of an extended olive branch of netted information, would serve as elicit proof that the agency of faith, was being organized by con men and those unable to live out their disrobed dreams in becoming a pedophile.

Artemis feared the intentions of such an unpredictable beast, leashed like a bitch and held without accountability. Nothing could prove that a songstress siren wouldn’t entertain the authorities with proof of siting and encounter, and the hand off to a tax-exempted monster. The wide-eyed girl avoided looking at the Hydra at extreme lengths, but the commercialization had made the beast to be phenomenon that swallowed the world into darkness. They affiliated themselves with family, so that their flock would overlook their sexual deviance: transpired upon all of their children as a matter of convenience.

The omnipresent beast had terrorized far reaching lands with their sick brand of tutelage, and dodged investigations, evading convictions by payouts or relocation of whatever man or woman..accused of fondling or raping a child. Time would erode the depths of depravity in statistics to properly display their united iniquitous hunger. Artemis found the men in robes to be inviolable of enabling to say the least, and grown individuals commodious with taking advantage in the unprotected by lazy access...partaking in crimes of minor convenience.

The malady of misguided religion had been set to the timer bewitched by time, ringing in a graceful salutary of both a cloaked institution, and a family of goblin-like individuals tasked with casually setting the world ablaze. The process of abandonment and tacit agreement left a relationship in tatters, signified by a hand-crafted symbol of a penis on the lawn of the Queen. Artemis giggled over a salutary nod: the time of outdated participate flowed along the sluggish beats of melody found with the Hydra, dragging corpse’d heads over a bushel of edified zealots, slithering heads. Stale decay lingered beneath the pandemonium filled footsteps of the ochlocracy reigning for generations. The beast had been stopped short at the edge of West Coast, towering beneath the mighty Redwood trees, where Artemis existed as an orphan, immune to the venial sermonizer lies that fell clumsily from the mouths of the monster.

Artemis had no shelter to offer a beast in respite as the delegated tribune of the Yurok People. She set afoot at dawn, (just some random dawn)...ready to return the daunted lizardish pet. She had wrestled the beast into a slickened harness, dripping with the treacherous ink left behind by all the tales preserving the beasts coveted "Traditions". The couture poem was meant to excuse the lack of passion given to the monsters baseless tale of judgemental intreccio. A sly smile would eventually replace a worrisome smile...proving silent fulcrum, a shameless amusement found in witnessing they Hydra cast hollow spells. The lone word "Why?" had potential to cause a maelstrom of woes for all of those robed-out and affiliated with such a hypothetical pedophile.

Artemis had been born, gifted with dreams as a living artifice to the hopelessness of those lost before her. She would awake, turning her head slowly, to observe familiar children standing in line in blue threads and linens. No words came out, her body pumped torrents of fear-driven blood to directly to her heart. Skulls made a defining sound in close proximity to weapons of precious metals. Artemis awoke, laying splay over dead school students, reaching out towards a bloody hand, and fumbling to find warmth at the tips of purpling fingers. Hades was the nebulous space of silent penance found wedged beneath forgotten pages, frigid and cold. Her mind wandered to such helpless moments: resulting to daydreams caused by sluggish cumulus clouds mounting and lulling by, even as a child. They were the children, searching the land for their worried mothers...if only to ask for assistance in dressing appropriate to the weather conditions. So many children had been lost to time. She was forever cursed to be chained to the memories created by a monster.

The beast was trapped, surrounded by surviving statements of the inviolable Indigenous Warriors: they held hands in separate rooms and sang the same tune...the song of unspoken tales, where religious institutions held rights to child mutilation of genitals and mouths. The Hydra began to defensively hiss, casting spells of half-hearted prorogue and returning to its duties in collecting treasure. Artemis stood center of their trauma, pusillanimous in doubt...unaware that she was evidence of the Hydras abuse herself. The tenable disbelief that mistreatment and abuse were often unpredictable, interchangeable as the weather patterns without a rhythm. It would take years before Artemis noticed homogeneous patterns of the Hydra to the triangulated schemes meant to take advantage of a desperate market of vulnerable citizens. It was within reason that Artemis believed judiciously in the separation of State and religious institutions. She had taken it upon herself to cast proper penitence on the perverse monster.

She guided the ring of deflective elders to path of the Hydra, leading them past rings of purgatory with ease, as an innocent victim...uneducated to the fact that the Hydra had committed mass murder, and beatified in proximity by way of participation of moral. Artemis was viewed as complicit in the birth of the word Genocide, for having worn a cross of deception for a majority of her youth. Prudence and discipline had been values taken to the extreme behind closed doors, where she survived in a house of horrors, inconclusive to the projected values of the Hydra. The implications of needing religion had sprang up overnight, as the desperate attempts of a bequeathing wife: clawing away at her attempts to escape the mounting fact that her beaming, Zues-ified husband had a trend in accusations of being a pedophile.

Her childhood was crafted around the lie of living within a snippet of an opening scene of forced smiles, colorful jumpers and religious despot. The Hydra was equally materialistic to the flair and fashions of the Mechanical Boar...they had all lived in time of unprovisional elegance and wealth. Opulence brought foam to the brims of both beasts, striding in line with hollow words and unapologetic yelling. Both beasts grew frantic by unfavorable publicity left to be told to the Polis and Senate. Even Artemis knew...the art of a trail made of paper. The criterion of the many crimes were without defense to the flanking tumult of concerned parents, holding weapons and gathering to collectively attack the aging and harmful monster.

The Hydra grew enraged: confused by the lack of children sacrifices being enforced by each territory. Why were the citizens surrounding it, without the gesture of bowed crowns?! Had they not agreed to the terms and conditions of proper sacrifice? How could one justify the reduction of offerings in opportunities to rape young boys on a whim?! Artemis began to projectile vomit in a panic to the committed tone of the Hydra. Polity set out as trap for their victims, was no longer enough for the voracious monster.The methods of the Hydra had progressively became more sloppy, it stumbled until its precept in values was no longer welcome in the homes of potential believers. Parity in religion had given way to science and an execrable congregation of individuals, too self-aware to fall for thorny spells and guilt-filled sickness. The Hydra was unaware that her presence by its right foot made it susceptible to the internecine of the harm sent her way. Artemis was not against the idea of a "God", but also didn’t feel comfortable aligning herself in a closed room with such a questionable monster.

Artemis returned to a lifetime where her birth mother had traded her life for a ceramic vase filled with sorrow, witchcraft was a skill that bleed over time and endless pages. She handled the heirloom with care, peeling apart stiff pages in middle of the night and charnel spillings of contents upon the moseying back of the Hydra. Artemis had decided to lay waste to a scaling beast, by standing in its shadow and dragging along half-alive...a hunched-back monster.

Artemis had understood the need to travel through time, by passing within...having wasted decades pleading for forgiveness. The putrid scent was artifice for the wise, a tale-tell of a con. The Hydra lured in a parade led by the most horrific couples known to all the times. A prophetic loser named Chad and a woman named Lori, famed for her five husbands and missing children. The vain woman found homicide to be expedient, and death trickled in the wake of her corrupt footsteps. Nothing could stand in the way of such an unapologetic, sexually deviant monster.

Artemis had known the depths of indifference one would go to, in order to fulfill "God’s will". It was a room, tucked away at the end of a ceding hallway. Artemis had seen a fragment of Hera’s deceitfulness in black widowed mother, reigning terror over the land and wielding her disabled brother as tribune to a prophecy unforeseen. The reward for such unwise solicitors would be that of death, or act in favor of verdict passed as sentencing by way of Lori, her already married Chad, and the point system that weighed heavily towards the intent of the blushing bride. Artemis refrained from laughing out loud, in retort to Lori swallowing reality as a harsh medicine. As a younger sibling to someone cursed with bipolar-ed emotions and narcissistic personalities that repelled people on a good day, or consumed them whole on a bad one...Artemis knew better than to argue with a divisively evil individual like Lori: there were boundaries unable to be seen or held, by way of pontificating insanity, or disassociation. The Polis buzzed with words of the woman dawning cheap red paint and the dramatic face of thespian mortal, the droves had emerged to judge a hideous monster.

Artemis had been raised around such callous and violently suggestive "jokes", like those cast by Chad and "T"...the cheapened humor, wrapped in vile intentions. The motherly kind...comparing children to something needing to be deloused, a vermin to be eradicated. To remain a nuisance, the butt of all jokes...forever. At some point...there was always a credible witness. Every public altercation of words danced around the lingering judgement as to the depths of the word unwanted. Artemis had danced the dance on occasion, keeping weird phrased words confined to jokes: restricting seedlings of evil to emerge. She found forgetful, enabling siblings to be untrustworthy in context. Gannon was part of the reason Artemis refused to trust step or half siblings to an extent. At the paramount of collected data, everyone would be made aware of the amount of shame needed to render revocation, accountability, or even a shred of guilt to a tacit, self-absorbed parent...the unpredictable stranger; dedicated to remaining a monster.

Artemis chained each, Lori and Chad to a stumpy leg of the Hydra...due to their hobby of slaughtering children...wanting to prove to seven ex-marital partners in a single poem, that a specific pairing would bask in the extracurricular activity of premeditated murder. Each husband would watch as his own death and be granted a second chance at life: using the eyes of a Muse, to bend the amalgam of time and space. How many husbands would laugh Artemis accosting the woman in her dreams: punching a stranger locked away in metal cage...nightmares that had bled over into the reality of Lori. Artemis had no reason to refrain from mumbling whenever declaring the "belittled wife" to be indeed, "the worst." Each husband would be destined to carry the burden of proof in expressing their timeless love, and neither Lori, or Chad would ever admit to their crimes of being born as a monster.

She threw those participating in her simulation into a small warmly lit room, providing the ambiance of a winter evening. The task of a Muse was to witness and observe as a silent pyre of corpses stood in line behind their husband or wife, excusing themselves upon being executed. Artemis had only needed to change the mind of one partner, a poor blinded woman named Tammy. A loving mother, a wife of three decades, and the victim to a massive con conducted by her toad-ing husband, Chad. Nothing but a simulation could changed ones perspective on natural causes being overlooked to ignore the obvious suffocation...the final wicked deed of a "faithful" monster.

The tied up ends of loosening stories, would mean that the game granted Tammy permission access to stand behind Chad, and yell profanities as a Ghosts in a haunted home. Artemis liked engineering funny glitches into a program meant to serve Just punishments to restore checks and balances. This was the world of ghosts and beasts. Two claps of grandeur air, puff and tufts of floury victory reigned alongside ivory keys began to turn the gears of the machine tied to the belt of an accessorized Hydra. It began to be weighted down by a belt of accountability, slowing its pace to accommodate the ever changing weight of a chaste belt, the useless mass of decaying flesh laying atop its neck, and the impending attacks of the surrounding citizens...finding dissension in its past for enabling countless men robed, and ultimately anointed for being a pedophile.Artemis knew the world would eventually lose sight of the big picture, and it caused her to lay traps alongside a trail of tears. The gift of words had set Artemis free from the chains of religion, and granted her the right to hold trial over all those that felt unseen by their own God. She had once longed to hold a faith, contemporary to the bottomless sorrows overflowing into her orphaned life. There was no God, only the intentions of a decent man, and the shadowed figure of ones true self...the ever exerting monster.

Artemis had wrestled with her shadow, and soberly owned her reflection, long before Lori reached for her husbands hand. The woman began to infringe upon the space of Chad...to a pathetic degree, flopping a frail balmy hand until a proper match made his way up the line. Artemis liked the idea of the world witnessing the aging woman finally catching up to her beloved prophet, in a piped voice and a trailing shrill giggle "fifth times a charm!". Artemis thought Tammy might take glee in the idea of the public throwing shade by holding up a totem mask of a face projectile vomiting and turning green without a drop of envy. The world held its breath, bowing heads in saga of blindsided religion and the innate grossness in the actions of Chad and Lori...in killing their spouses and children for fun. They had caused a snarl to form, and eventually tore away at the fabric of tightly woven morals, hiding behind dogma to craft and serve the sentence of death to children. Children were pawns in a game of romance, at least to Lori...a woman famed for being a delusional monster.

Artemis began to draft a caging spell around the parameter of the Hydra, equipping herself with ancient artifacts forgotten to time itself. She held the smooth mouth of baseless vase of tears, and trailed its contents around the beastly Hydra. She couldn’t help but laugh at a bratty memory, where she threw a fit...chucking a shattering and mending ceramic piece, and expressing that the unbreakable vase was the most useless artifact found within a charmed Room of War. Artemis had drafted to fall from a zealot lil bitch named Andrew. She knew he was immune to criticism following the death of his famed father. Artemis was fervent to the idea that she and the Champion of ivory could agree to unending disappointment brought on by his idiosyncratic loser of a child. No parent could prepare for the existence of an adversarial personality...let alone one that ranted his sermon of rape culture, amalgamation schemes, and sprinkled his lectures with sacrilege worthy of such a lethargic monster.Even without light...the Iggy would arrive with a torch of melodic spells to cast flame. Their rivalry in hypnotic spells could be measured in a battle of regressed time, a loop of historical occurrences and probabilistic outcomes surrounding this one beastly entity throwing off balance to the entire world. The monster hissed with a cacophony of conflicting details, half servile to enabling the evil acts of others...anything to preserve the inevitable fate of an antiquated practices of the criminal monster.

Just like the Boar, the Hydra felt it stood above the law, sardonically mocked the citizens with its blatant ability to advert from paying taxes. Artemis had walked off to find a prop package, and returned with one for Lori to exchange. Artemis held up her valuable envelope holding a white label with two words and an adhesive backing. The signifying reward, diminutive words to mere mortal, but lethal when given directly to the Hydra; Ensign Peak, was the title and map of invisible treasures that rivaled that of the Golden City. The top of a spear, the turning point where belie had been directed at the many heads of the monster.

The book and its scribbled notes, had sloppily thudded into the lap of time...not out of scandal, but because the Hydra had been openly mocking congregations, for falling victim to their con of tithing. The many heads of the beast exercised its talents in suppressing its variety of gourmands, the vices that drove its very existence. The Hydra had no way of hiding its remarkably harmful impact on every community it came into contact with, and the evidence in synchrony of ill-intent and evasion of the law had led the beast into an invisible corner. The beast began to cower, playing out an dramatized act of begging for forgiveness. The art of arbitration provided protected pathos, and allowed the child abuse to commence without proper dredging. It seems the public was very comfortable sacrificing their offspring to figureheads in robes...adults choosing to place their pride over the safety of their children. The typical parental neglect. Hindsight was the lasting vexed gifts...to all those that chose to emotionally gouge out their eyes instead of admitting their participation in grooming children for a pedophile.

The barrier of confidentiality was built to cage the beast, "out of respect" to their sheeply fanclub, but it had forgotten to cover its tracks in offices. It didn’t take long before those without religion entered the cage and began to ask non-religious questions...they could care less about the hidden library, and it guarded secrets. The subversive intellects were just a bunch of randoms, wanting better infrastructure in society. Artemis proudly boasted of the citizens had rendered the beast invisible in its threat level: noting, that many of them had well-thought-out plans or suggestions of how to bring balance to society....by implementing checks on extracurricular activities like affiliating one’s self with the volatile beast. Artemis tossed a red dress with a graceful step, gleefully striding alongside with those moving past outdated sorcery out of sheer confusion to its actual mission, and saving their hard-earned currency out of convenience.

Her state of glowering was broken by the movement of solidarity for victims of sexual violence. Artemis held a trident of apparition, a gifted artifact with unlimited data and unyielding power. It was only to be wielded by a victim devoted to sagacity, equality, and the truth. She’d been gifted the item by a heroine with blond hair, a defender of children named Julie. It allowed Artemis to legate battlefields and better offset the derelict of any Titanous monster.

Artemis would recall dreams of shivering and laying in debilitating states of physical shock, staring at another soon-to-be corpse...children in uniforms, left in a mass grave funded by those in local and foreign Senatus. The vividness of such nightmares made it indisputable that her heart was anchored to the recent past. The dream was of a time before the leader named John, had stepped in and yelled "They’ve had enough!". The leader had thrown his body and legacy over the surviving Indigenous Warriors second before defeat. He had single-handedly swathed an entire community, and paid for his many changes to the financial playground of the polis with his life. To this day, a majority of the citizens shrugged with indifference to his non-existing trials, and sentencing of death. They claimed it was a Just execution of duty, for the sake of audacity in perpetuating change. It was easier to discard his leadership qualities and bravado or to downplay his apparition to current history, out of ungrateful and arrogant convenience.

Artemis thought of the dream in moments of overwhelming confusion, a fleeting wisps of insanity marking its territory with a heavy blink of the eye. Plenty of elder held the same sickness, left standing helpless as they looked on at a passing Princely man in a unsheltered carriage. The word of such failure to comprehend reality no longer had a word in Yurok: assent of its value was buried with loose soils, the words swallowed up by a cruel world and the humans that pretended to know nothing of the Genocide occurring all around them daily. Nothing could justify her unending sorrow. Time had moved past the war-tactics and atrocities against children ranging from age four to twenty. Overcrowding at the industrial schools had left men with gold-trimmed robes to escort droves of kidnapped children to a trench, sharrowed holes dug in haste and its location picked out of insured convenience.

There was no preferment for the Indigenous Warriors to seek the God brought forth by the pale savages. Her family and legacy had been cut down at its roots....the penurious tissue left rotting in an elongated ditch. Artemis needed the land to protect the coffin of truth from a society unfit to observe their own reflection. The efficiency of planned but unscheduled fires, isolated locations, and minimal education gave those, Holy and blessed...another reason to eradicate victims that were able to testify. The last thing they had wanted, were a slew of defendants; assimilated in language and armed with partial citizenship to a land of freedom. Nothing could convince the Hydra to accede its spells and terrorist traits. Artemis assessed the beast snarl at the mere reminder that it had been summoned to trial, and the beast willingly had followed her to the belly of Hades. The preliminary had come to pass, leading to an guilty acquittal for the unchecked monster.

The presence and ineptitude of such a lewd beast attracted the likes of a Mechanical Boar. All Artemis knew...was the fact that this timeline was CuRsEd Af. Goofy monsters, and scary beasts. The Hydra took great satisfaction in flaunting its sexual escapades. The Hydra began evolving itself to bear more heads, of the half were those meant to supervise their child molesting "brothers and sisters", enabling and cleaning up after...those that knew not what they did. Artemis had witnessed the insatiable beast hissing into a midnight sky "You were one of my best boys." The unforgettable memories passed on by a surviving Indigenous Warrior...a child living in the torturous shame of the tickled sound of a trouser zipper. The end is always the same, a child being taken advantage by a pale-skinned man. The unyielding tales of survival led Artemis to a Throne of Freedom, a passage to Hades itself. Only those that had survived the assimilation period, and half-pure of heart could open the chambered portal; only a child marked "victim"...armed only with frugality, born from the art of surviving at the unforgiving hand of a pedophile.

That was all Artemis had known as a child, that someone had hurt her relative and that he in turn hated her for existing untouched by the world. There wasn’t a proper time or place to pontificate the unforgotten horrors, just as, judiciously there was no formal time allotted to address the wooden Throne of Torture: a one-of-a kind technology used only by those in command at St. Anne’s up North. An Artifact "lost to time", but laid to rest at the feet of a scandalously promiscuous future King. He’d be nothing more than a figurehead, an inserted rag of a man, with a brother famed for being a pedophile.

Artemis took a kneeling posture to honor their trauma, understanding that their joined suffering had been gifted only by a Hydra, but somehow ordained by a Questionable Queen. Time had elapsed, Artemis reborn into sound mind and gifted a silver tongue. She resorted to confining her feelings towards a strange family, as she clawed away at information needed for a proper attack. It did seem important to cast note of the leashing triumvirate between a Queen, a Hydra, and a Mechanical Boar. At the end of the day, the Queen was just a simple lady, a lost parent; needing to protect a grown son from the judgement of the public, and wishing to ignore the fact that Andrew was an alleged pedophile.

Artemis was destined to find a fleeting room filled with death and despair to attain chiefdom, as a right of passage. It was the responsibility of her elders to confer tufts of crass and woolly truths to lead the way, and for her to walk through two worlds...accepting the fate of mortal with each stride. Artemis clung to a ceramic vase, filled with inter-generational tears of traumas that were unresolved by her ancestors. The slight tip of a neck, brought forth servile tears and mild relief to the beholder. No surface was level enough to keep the relic from toppling over and spilling its frenetic contents, and so Artemis resorted to lugging it over a shoulder out of weary convenience.

The lip of the vase was without burrs, shaking in a rage whenever witness to a story of sexual assault, horrific violence, and the act of executing children. The elders wrapped Artemis in a blanket of healing, having seen her crumble beneath the weight of demonstrative expectations. The began asking for her to take a battle stance, knowing what lay on the horizon. The elders had originally came to her, claiming they needed assistance finding a particular monster separate to the Hydra...a single citizen known only as The Gardener. The weight of the hellacious artifact had left her curved spine to lay locked to a perched knee. She had failed everyone by not overcoming the abuse of her youth. Some elders had passed by yelling unwise things like, "I see no leaders in this room": entitled judgements from a teacherly Ballew of the Salish Sea. A whining and insufferable instructor was a polished totem of nepotistic adroitly, wrapped up in old-fashioned views. Selective expectations, laid down and pressed into a culture barely holding itself together due to accessibility to resources and convenience.

Artemis had returned to wandering here and there, slowly introducing herself to every other Tribe she stumbled across. The Brave 700 came to assist in lifting the vase in her dreams, pleading with her stand up one more day, or risk the fact that their sacrifices may have been for nothing. The incipient curse of please others was an esteemed disease, but often accompanied those surviving with what was called: the great sorrow. It would mean that Artemis was always left to beam a bright smile, laced with frivolity and lacking all commitment to exert emotions implying permanence; out of polite convenience.

There was a new elegance to her self worth. Artemis slept easy knowing Leticia would receive sentencing for slaughtering a step child with Jodi-ish overkill and tales of fabricated woe. Artemis had no intention in dignifying the diagnosis passed along by a forgetful professional and the hearsay of Maria. Nothing had disassociated "T" from reality, just her laziness in motherly duties....the same could go for Chad, the step-father too overwhelmed by greed to find the time to even seek favor through idle prayer. The moment of reckoning had been brought in by the heinous losers Artemis often avoided. She adored the idea of trusting herself enough to know a verdict would arise with the sun, and a tapestry would be set ablaze to announce the successful understanding of a true monster.Artemis had chained Lori to a hind leg, Maria to another, and allowed the women to do what they did. Each committed crimes in broad daylight. Artemis had wanted to drive the point home, by waiting for the Hydra to lose its strength and anchoring the beast to a small chunk of time with two other anchors. These two women repelled those useless in feeding their egos, led only by their traits to be specious, and ferociously jealous. One muted at her own talon, and the other left spewing mistruths to distract from the fact she’d killed Gannon. One mother feared her hands being dirty, and the other leaned into her sealed fate and title as evil step-monster.Artemis gifted Letecia with a poem fit for motherly admiration, laying a poem that apologized. She was sorry for whatever illness had allowed Leticia to take out her childhood trauma on a child of no blood relation. Why should Gannon be loved, when nobody had ever cared or protected a little "T"? Artemis had nothing but a silent nod, and a stroll to acknowledge the type of women that yearned to influence and admiration by flocks of female audiences. The type of sickness this woman held; probably wasn’t caused by manual rectal medical practices. Nothing could justify this woman leaning over a prepubescent Gannon, let alone the overkill that eased her pain until the next obsession. True evil hid behind the astigmatism’d vision of a creepy, and predictibly "unpredictable" monster.

Two predators came from the lands the Queen to resume their post as a last line of defense. The were the nocturnal type. One that Artemis had Letbe, and the other named Raynhard. One beast was obsessed with the might of hand, often holding them out or propping things up in skewn postures. The other, well...Artemis had wanted to use him to propel the beast forward in momentum. The four beasts and the Hydra held strict strides, elbows tacked to their hips, and small cupped hands gently swaying. Artemis had used the man as token of the times, complete with his dangling crucifix. One man alone had done more damage to a community in less than half a decade, in broad comparison to the latest misdeeds of the Hydra. Both had an insatiable desire to overpower the vulnerable. One man famed for raping, at least two hundred incapacitated other people and the other, was an organization left blanketing the evils of those that molested and raped children. Each mentioned in a small paragraph were left at her skills in deindividualism, and deemed unforgivable, a waste of space, or proof of their society churning out mass production of this particular type of apathetic monster.

Artemis had been left, carved in stone and ivory, waiting for her leaders to loosen their grip to beads and a religion that wasn’t meant for them. It was only then, that the Indigenous Warriors would be successful in their collective efforts to lift the vase from her shoulders. It hadn’t been the Indigenous Warriors to discover Artemis kneeling, but the Kind-Hearted Hunters wandering through foliage and seeking aid for a crumbling Nation being held captive by a boarish monster.

They taught her inspiration in fighting her undignified battle of great sorrow. Three passerby Hunters and Julie had asked her to trade a single book with many, and the freedom broke the spell of veiled words. Artemis now held daydreams of explaining how five convictions were always to be seen as better than none, and time had served in her favor...considering the stakes. Artemis had one shot to take down the Hydra, and the probability of trauma being confused with trials, had made it to where her love of law was an outlier. Man is rarely comfortable placing themselves in the belly of Hades, considering the grueling task of looking in the reflection and choosing to admit one is capable of becoming a monster.

Academic Narrative replace guilt and self-doubt. Artemis now longed for the aid of a defensive man named Bruce, a professional that could help find restitution, by way of argument outlining a Fostered Narrative and begrudging aid of a single sheet of paper. She felt time pressing anxiously upon a door of fate...the world was filled with clutter, cheap and half-hearted published works wrote for nobodies enjoyment. Artemis longed to publish a book, true and untrue, protected from the Gertrude-talons of a citizen hiding her religious-backed-beliefs. Artemis taken her many legs of logic, and set out to prove that the woman’s intent to harm children proved that she were a true monster.

The Hydra had tracked Artemis down throughout each reincarnation; finally finding a lost child standing in home laying low, double and wide. The conversations of antiquated rhetoric, warped memories of a bored child, avoiding a lady named Hera...who seemingly lived to be jealous of others. The sensitivity of an unstable timeline had been split it into two, where one was ruled by a Hydra: forgetful, forgiving, and standing in alliance with a Prince named Andrew. The other, would be one where the Hydra was held legally accountable for it many, many crimes against humanity, and forced to pay off its numerous victims. In mirroring fashion to the recovery tacts of the Mechanical Boar...the Hydra continued on with its depravity unfazed, believing a few lashings were better than being stopped in its tracks. Very few things stood in the way of a hungry pedophile.The Mechanical Boar stood behind the Hydra; utilizing the preestablished masses of blind victims and perpetuate an image of false chaste and honesty. The Boar had stated on multiple public occasions: that he too...were occasionally attracted to minors, and had absolutely no issue with Hydra being a pedophile.

Standing afar to gain periphery, she admired the beast and often took a piece of its frail scales to weigh opposite to the Scale of Blind Justice. Countless heads, all claiming to be of one body, blessed above all. Built in building to house "love in its purest form"...despite the semblance in practices, that gave them the honors to wed off children and preside over "immaculate conception". Artemis could only throw a veil of transparency over its behind like blanket and hoped that the world finally forgive themselves for following a beast famed for its spells in precarious deceptions. Some day...they might find the evidence needed to convict a man... so vile and heavily rewarded for his efforts in remaining "blessed". In the meantime, the Hydra would saunter along and meet congregations of unending numbers...the unwise, tossing currency at its giant feet; displacing sins to a circumspect monster.

The stench of death would eventually emanate from beneath the soils of every step the beast took. Their profound hunger would be untenable, to the might of the many parents of the children that had been stolen, molested and raped by the aberrant arrogance of the unapologetic monster.Artemis pleaded with the citizens to assist in moving a tail of the beast, having broke free from its spell. She began hauling the slimy tail with her one free hand, explaining and heaving a plan where one tail pointed directly towards the garish castle of a Questionable Queen, for safe keeping. She needed to leash the beast with accountability and preempt them for whatever settling lies had began to rumble and churn from the belly of the monster.

They dragged the spike-lined skin and pointed its tip towards the Southeast of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Its abrasive scales were sprawling across a small village plastered with gold: a "house" gleaming from wall-to-wall. An estate with an eclectic sorts of loot and booty. The perception of faith was spellbinding, and the Hydras charm had only needed to be potent enough to turn parents servile enough to offset their questions. Guilt was given to those with questions, for how dare they have the audacity to question the mental wellness and credentials of an age-old institution...complete with a mascot of a robed pedophile.The novelty of Western fortune...meant absolutely nothing to Artemis. Tradition was only for those with a culture. She was still peeved that the single word Eureka...had caused a few randoms to invade her land: all in the search of a few specks of gold. It became clear to Artemis: that the splitting tails held unequivocal importance to the Hydra and its countless heads. These unaccountable faces were lead in tertiary of its followers, but guided by the Questionable Queen and whatever beast lay in the second gold palace...near the Tyrrhenian Sea. Artemis knew damn well...that she’d be battling the monster forever if her strategy focused upon attacking the growing number of heads that the Hydra wielded. Artemis began to strike her weapons of silver and gold upon the backside of the Hydra...extemporaneously flailing an invisible blade across its bum: knowing that nobody really expects, or wants to be attacked from the rear. Ever. A lesson in tactics Artemis had taken directly from the Hydra: It was a detail given by recounts with the cowardly, deranged pedophile.

Artemis found a book buried beneath a pile of scales, a seemingly tattered and indistinguishable heap of peer-reviewed stories, protecting the heart of the Hydra. A leather bound book held grip over the world, condemning all thing effete, and casually shredding particles of faith in humanity. Artemis had found a man named Gasset trailing behind the beast, murmuring to himself the expounding concept that man was without nature, les be left with his own history. Artemis found herself tilting her head in relief to having found such perennial thoughts to be of merit. Her childhood had been blanketed by countless memories of blindly following the Hydra, and longing for more practical pedagogic company to answer life’s questions. She stood in plain sight of the Hydra, invisible ink burrowed in memories upon an arm. The fractures of being ignored were everpresent, ready to announce her lack of luck and anodynes in cheerfulness. Artemis stood beneath its underbelly, surrounded by four individuals holding post to their "beliefs", whether it be the right to harm others, or the belief in grandiosity. Each child chained to the ankles of the Hydra would muster cavorting excitement to each limb of the monster.

Artemis was the artistic mind, the demi-goddess of arts and song, the "arranger", a scientist armed with curiosity and harangue, lurching a machine forward by codification of pairing beasts to the proper moment of deception. The cupitas sun would always rise with Lucy claiming papers walked her home, Venables nagging at Thomas with suggested peverticies, and Dylan tempting Eric with weapons of mass destruction. Artemis stood between the four, watching as they marched behind a girl with a Bell; peevishly guiding them through unending fog. Death had a weird way of following the childish monster.

Artemis awoke groggy and frizzy beyond all belief: moseying out of a spellbound daydream, having fought off the dismal spell with plurality and earned skepticism. Her perception of accountability had imprinted consorting social skills the eventually leapt for her pages. Artemis had initially set out to prove that humility was kind, and full of love. The majority of input had fallen below the bar of expectation of what was equal, and was apparent in a draft driven by ego, haste, and the veiled opinion she was only worthy of the title of orphan, discarded monster.

She found self-worth in a shameless approach to emotions, stating the events that occurred and keeping the family member buried from sight. Artemis had woven a beautiful blanket of self-forgiveness. One that affirmed why she felt uncomfortable in her own skin, or shed away the unsafe positions of a child chained to a confusing memory. The repressed thoughts were like a tape worm growing in the abdomen, one that could care less about the hosts convenience.

Artemis had taken the memory, and turned it into a word that was beyond powerful. The introverts most powerful tool; the word no. Instead of dwelling on her woes, and calling out each head of the Hydra, she handed the leash to the citizens...those gun-ho on remaining under the hooves of a gang. She hung it up pins of hopeful desires...desperate to craft a tapestry bearing resemblance in value to the Hydras book of deceit. One day the Hydra would outgrow the fabric of poem, the seemingly harmless weapon it had overlooked. The beast had hoarded books and knowledge, after misinterpreting the Traditional teachings about a living book, wrote by a selfish weeping monster.

Artemis would escort the beast to the gates of Hades, but only by carrying a vase of many sins and vices. The depths of transparency would reveal a map tracing their travels around the world with red threads, a Prince, an untamable Warrior and a most importantly...a small furry companion. The decent to Hades would be most critically, before the name Mom held priority over her thoughts and actions. A life without an atmosphere of shock, one worthy of noting, okayness that unearthed itself out of scientific convenience.

She had awoken from the purgatory of violent fervor, a virgin to the spells of the Hydra. Artemis had done the hard work, cultivating the no from the depths of her social anxiety. Artemis had refused participation in a celebration of baptism, and brought ultimate shame to a house of liars. Her head would occasionally nod in premonitory agreement to the words that needed to be said, and she took the cues gifted by a body worn ragid with overwhelming expectations. The word no, was meant to seal the discussion with a kiss or clarify any communication complications. It was the only trick she could arm the citizens with, for whenever they grew to weary to follow in the tracks of the Hydra. What would be the breaking point?, the atrocity precipitated the powerful words of blinding exegesis. Primacy in virgin offerings was all that mattered to a tax-exempt pedophile.

Artemis dragged her feet through subterfuge gospels and worship sessions, this God and his spell were without bounds to her lost soul. She remained to keep community elders and sweet elders that had once aided a trek through the darkness. A promise of forgiveness had kept her sane before she had traded a metal trinket for a Blue Shield of Hope. Her faith was dilapidated beyond recognition, it lay in tatter, barely extenuating reasoning behind a single word. "Why". Artemis sought aid by medical professionals ready to explain why she’d been exiled for a tone of mordant insincerity without threat of discipline. The fulcrum conversations reserved only for those patient enough to study and advise a woman with heteroclite hatred for the world. She shielded herself with a smile; concealing a preexisting side-affect of orphan hood. The facts of life had left her in a state of survival, complete with the dancing eyes of a monster.

The miasma of ill-intent had plagued her mind for lifetimes over, until finally Artemis was born with a mind aimed forever True North. She stood beneath the belly of a beast labeled pure, and used its own powers of wording to wield critical axiom, through a guilded touch. Weaving such a tapestry could easily announce her birth right in scion, one where questions were welcomed and her tears were entrenched with Warrior ethos. Artemis awoke to the footsteps of the citizens surrounding the beast, the scent of Lori and Maria ManyFaces had triggered a change in the atmosphere. It seems, the world had finally caught on to the idea of accountability being tacked to the forehead of an uncontrollable monster.

A few sprinkled crowd members held constructive criticism with the Hydra, noticing it was enjoying the drama, and forgetting that it perpetuated the evils untold itself. Artemis stood amongst the citizens, pointing out the massive arse of the Hydra, uncovered and blowing to the wind. The Hydra began to stammer and stutter, piecedly advocating that their agendas favored primacy to their meager complaints. The citizens began to call out the names of the plethora of trusted faces, and pointing out the mismatched stitches along its blanket of love. The Hydra had been caught weaving a cover-up along the fringes of their loving community, and left an unmendable hole in the fabric of their trust in people. Artemis said nothing, knowing nobody cared what an orphan thought. The tawdry gold-hems of the artifact kept words and faces trapped within the fleece of the interwoven cloth, and Artemis had only laid patterns of rough shapes to remind the world of the suffering of the Indigenous Warriors. The Hydra had outgrown its own home and exposed its deceitful intentions in aiding and abetting portions of entity with anonymity. Just another rewarded apparition for being caught in the acts ordained only by a Holy pedophile.

The Hydra lacked self-actualization, and was unaware of rate of codification coming from certain heads. Parent were pissed. The beast began to bite at the necks of others, attempting to rid their lives of all evidence and ridicule. Artemis awoke to the silent attack of self-destruction: a sleepy Princess, a Jung_E of all traits; an angel of death. The beast seemed unorganized and worried in its impromptu "silent shuffle", it had never been approached by concerned parents from every direction. The Hydra was unaware Artemis had once been forced to sign a "Pact with God", surviving traumas like those that rival the legacy of Revoir, Maskell and "The Priest". She didn’t hate those under the umbrella of religion, just those that used it as a tool harm others. Artemis had nothing but the unforgiving ability to cast judgement to those that used dogma to hide their tendencies, and separated the belief from the action with labels and confining words. They had all been free to live public lives as wandering sovereign, and the Hydra; unlisted for their crimes in harming children. It rang needless, to fight a battle and prepare convictions for the citizens...as citizens passed by; eager to feed the desires of the "religious" monster.

Artemis hadn’t wanted to leave the citizens questioning her strident dissidence to a beast dawning a metal charm and a single word to name itself: apostolic. She had tucked the blanket over a seemingly harmless entity, knowing the contingent sins of the many faces would eventually forget about the weighted fabric laying loosely over its backside. The earned deluged stresses of the Hydra were wrapped in carving...unable to erased, maneuvered, or without just admonishment. Artemis awoke with auspices twinkling in her eyes: observing as the Hydra begin to stumble under the augmented threads. The impropriety of the Hydra had set bounty on its own existence, as the citizens proved the might of solidarity to be overpowering to the will of endless perpetrators. Artemis had only sat and listened to their tales of rape and sorrows, until unifying principal became normalized in comparison to a shallow life dedicated to personal pathology. The world could now longer elude from the facts that their hard earned wages had been donated to a scheme, ran by a slew of strangers that were more-than-comfortable robbing hundreds of others blind...if it meant protecting a single "cherished" pedophile.

Artemis awoke to a small man yelling orders at the Hydra, "Nothing stands in your way!". She began laugh with intrigue, a lackadaisical smile breaking through and plastering itself permanently in a disingenuous way. The man was asking the beast where a key was, unaware it lay beneath the fabric dangling over its bum. Once the beast provided evidence of intent to abuse; whether it be proof of means, motive, and opportunity...the information would flow over the brims of the gold-lined embankment like a dam crumbling in an instant. Until then, the sorrows would flow over the land...the key would lay untouchable until given a name. Artemis loving called it a Golden Fleece, because it was an unpredictable information monster. No amount of sacrament could halt the river of death that protruded from beyond the threads of disobedience. The ticks and tocks of time was manipulated by enhancing the brain with musics meant to praise the heavens above. This had been the timeline where dance remained legal, and caused the downfall of the Hydra. Artemis had broken free from its spell with ink-riddled arms. Accepting the fate of a "disposable soul" and the fact that she may be charged with a trip to Hades in her next life to repent for this slaughter. Artemis began to war cry, growling and gently picking up a delimiting leather sphere, in place of a book of empty promises. She’d gladly go back to the dark, but only with the skull of this beast...strapped to her hip as trophy. Artemis could only cast frantic jokes of yelling "control B!", in a way that rendered her invisible to the predatory monster.

Artemis stood back and observed the Hydra slashing the throats of the heads of those it deemed to be dead-weight, or liabilities to monetary projections. Rain of hopelessness fell from they skies, and the planet fell ill to a fever. Now the sky was fell under a wave of splattering, blood falling over the crowds of people surrounding the Hydra. She took victorious modicum to the taste of blood drawn without sin; her lips rolled over moist gloss without shame. The binding of affiliation left her unprotected from the gore of such a robust beast. There was no need for her to de-center her moral for those cursed to live without accountability. She had won, when their boarding schools gained credibility without the aid of those that flaunted trauma or did good deeds for the sake of bragging. The Indigenous Warriors were no longer legal bound to follow rule and reign of the Hydra, they were free to exist beside the monster.

She wielded her weapons of gold and silver tirelessly...upon the voluptuous ass of the Hydra, unbalanced by her own unrecognizable laughter...falling weak in the midst of all fresh blood-splattering. The precedent cloth anchored the beast to a specific timeline, and Artemis had forgotten that its removal process involved the aid of the citizens for efficacious impact. All she could do was cauterize the flesh along its backside; reminding the citizens that the surmised chants of the Hydra were merely dense promises. Their strength would come from assuming and learning first hand, that each battle held higher chances of unintentionally meeting an unapologetic pedophile.

She was prohibited in stepping away from the shadows of the beast, unable to forgive herself for the inconceivable violence from a youth...long forgotten. Artemis was only given the option to lay preemptive destruction at its backside...an area ripe for scaling, left forever vulnerable, and exposed. She had joined the hunt to pirate and study the secret libraries of the Hydra. Often interchanging between two crowns, Lady Fatima, and Casa Leitao. Wearing assorted posh accents or yelling quietly, a past time of her Western lifestyle. There was little significance in the artifacts, minus the fact that its existence gave birth to the word "secret" or "priceless". There was nothing for her to pillage or raid, only the enjoyment in steering the Hydra down a path of disarray and disparity, all the teachings taught by Rush...the dark-skinned monster terrorizing the land under a large white star. Artemis leashed the one head, pulling its scales back the bitch that he was. "Enough Rickie!" Artemis almost lost her temper thinking of the animal stripping down children, beating them, raping them, and handing them chaste underwear for their sins. She hopped atop its back, holding down the rounded curve of a saddle with her dainty legs sitting gently to one side. Artemis was responsible for leading the beast to its homeland, needing to find a proper plot of land in which to bury the exuberant monster.

Artemis proved her indomitable might to herself...rolling up on the sovereign land, one free of all true threats or terrorism. She slid down the right forelegs of the stumbling Hydra, laughing with congenial smile and hand-painting a hallway with blood. The citizens cared not of freedom and sacrifice, because it had never been under threat to invaders. The follies of Nicholas would eventually come for all the crowns; a clock had been wound, a string held out to take on The Final Cut. Artemis had learned the depths of responsibility and leadership from a failed leader, slain by his own republic, and forever tied to an incredulously venomous monster.

Next, she arrived upon the barren walls of the Questionable Queen and one of her many lavish castles. Dumping buckets of radical blood freely across the house of borrowed gold: the proof of her broken obsequiousness ran red, cascading from the floor to the joining ceiling of towers and stairwells. The humid paint now stank of coagulated blood, stored in the sun. The caking and crackling blood painted and cackled in a marbled resin, reluctantly drying. The somehow empty rooms lacked proper air circulation. She needn’t injure the Questionable Queen, or set fire to the village of the faceless unsuccessfully guarded by the Hydra: her veracity was unshakable. This particular battle belong to others; those too complicit in their unhappiness to notice. Artemis had smeared the blood of the Hydra along both palace walls, as a polite gesture of final warning. Artemis thanked them for their hospitality with a lopsided grin, holding back laughter as she told the two individuals that their decor was a bit ostentatious for her taste, and bidding each adieu. Artemis left, conveniently letting it slip her mind, to point out to a wise Queen lovingly named Supreme Potentante by the world; of her unbreakable cord locked on to a rare female predator...a beast named Maxwell: cursed with fatherless wealth, and the "unbecoming" tendencies of a pedophile.