Despite all the many travels Artemis had set upon…everywhere she went, they had played the melodies of King Midas. It would be integrated deep within her childhood memories, as she had grown up as a fan of his flute-like voice and mesmerizing dance moves. The King Midas had been the one public figure that Artemis remembered relating to, as he too: had hair that resembled untamed snakes, and an indescribable love for song and dance. The King Midas had grown up his entire life centerstage to the eyes of the world, and as a result he had distorted vision of the world and of all those around him. He had not been born royal, but just like Artemis: his title was bestowed upon him by the masses who flocked from the ends of the Earth to present him with standing ovations. He was the epitome of an era rich with passion as he alone defined future fashions and performing arts. To this unique and unworldly talent the world fell at his feet, and threw roses wherever he walked.

 Artemis had often said that the King Midas were the reason why she chose to become a public figure. It would also be this reason that allowed for her silly sway to be praised, as Artemis used her talents to bring an amused smile to those all around her, as she sang and hinted of her wishes to dance on the moon. She would grow up to admire the King Midas, and hold his kind voice to the immature presumption that his beaming grin meant that his heart was also kind. It wouldn’t be until after his death that she were old enough to devote enough time to develop a better understanding of the King Midas and his short rule... finally old enough to understand the complexity of the situation enough to seek further answers. Artemis had grown tired of everyone avoiding her questions, and it became very apparent in her youth that it was taboo to ever question the choices of the King Midas. Nobody batted-an-eye at the King, as he asked for offerings of young boys, and those that did: were destroyed by the treacherous wake of his family and legal representation. Proof that pedophilia had began to spread far and wide across the land that Artemis and her Indigenous Warriors held guard over: always left unarmed and naked and stripped of all personhood as they silently walked.

The King Midas held new wealth that was extravagant and used litigiously, as he lost sight with reality towards the end of his rule. He was unequivocally poor: besides a catalogue of music that he had refused to part ways with. The King Midas protected this treasure as he slept, and was left fighting and dying alone attempting to keep the treasure under his title and rule. The world looked away in shame, as all those in his family waited patiently by: picking the tepid flesh from his newly deceased body. They stripped away all that he was, until he was nothing more than a mere fictional story. His existence romanticized to gain profit...even after death. It wouldn’t be fought with any objection, as the King Midas supported the entirety of all those who he had been forced to call family. The world lay hypnotized by his voice, and confused as to what to do with his dry bones. Artemis pitied the King Midas as a youth, as the stories of the father of King Midas were prominently detailed to be focused on his sexual and physical abuse. This morbidity lead the world to pity and extensively procure excuses for the King Midas, as they even suggested that the King Midas may have been chemically castrated. The child abuse overlooked as it was supposedly done to preserve his angelic voice, and ensure his kingdom expanded to include his families ambitions. Artemis had no idea where the line of truths and fabrication began and ended, and occasionally felt her heart worry when hearing his tunes: hoping that the man’s spirit rested uneasy whenever she gazed up at the moon. Artemis would contemplate the situation and find all but the same answers every time, as she wished the pedophile luck in his afterlife wandering alone in Hades.

Artemis had been raised to understand how the dead-eyed savages had made her and the Indigenous Warriors sick with their words. Artemis had grown up with limited english, and her words chosen only to reflect the ethos of the Indigenous Warriors, as to not to conform to those all around her. She was taught as a youth that before the arrival of sickness, there had never been a Yurok words crafted to define the words: rape, pedophilia, theft, sick, lonely, never, incest, poor and hopeless. For these things had never existed until the arrival of the colonists...the god-less people that threw the terms around daily, to feed their love of anguish. The rare instances that these things had occurred before:  were preserved as stories of warning, and tales of darkened moral lessons for them to avoid from recreating. Like the story of a forbidden love: a brother and a sister defying the original Gods, and bringing forth a child that appears to be part monster. They fought members of their own tribe defending their love, but the only ones who objected proved to be themselves. The couple was left to defend their love angrily, as though they were holding strong against an army unending. We know not...of whatever happened to the couple: the tale claimed that they had left the Tribe try and seek a cure for their weakened child that couldn’t even stand without aid. Artemis had been raised and taught the Traditions by these stories as cautionary tales just as any other childhood tale, and lessons often useful up until adulthood. The stories and pictographs would stand the test of time, and their values still ever-present. The protection of her culture allowed her to always ask further questions from the world, and she was always ready to learn new things, so down the “Red Road” Artemis walked.

Artemis sat on her tiresome throne, and contemplated the previously known King Midas and his many sketchy ways. The line between eccentric and predator would have once been drawn out specifically because of the King Midas, as he stood public trial for having explicitly inappropriate relationships with a myriad of boys that once lay in his bed while he paraded their parents around wherever he walked.

 His family lied under oath to protect him from incarceration,  as they lay down their lives to preserve the name of King Midas and his future royalties in earnings: the depth of their depravity and greed unknown. He had invested in himself and his own talents through song and dance, as to preserve his lavish lifestyle...eventually becoming immortal with the aid of anyone who would paint his name in gold, or listen to his perversely intended music. The King Midas had but one rival in his family, and she would go on to repeat her truths and exposure of his predatory nature around children, even during his life. The rival sibling welcomed the truth with apologies and further explanations, as she had reemerged into the public: singing anonymously under the disguise of an other worldly being. The woman had once been crowned by her own blood, as the Queen of crazy: she always managed to be the main threat to the leeches of the King Midas, and they were eagerly willing and ready to commit perjury again...if only to preserve their first-world lifestyle. The now cherished sibling: addressed the public and questioned the families loyalty, for they had notoriously stormed the palace demanding monies for the secrets they held for King Midas in his last days. The King Midas had no more gold to give, as he had given away treasures of diamonds and gold to all the boys he bedded,  as well as to the families of all those he had groomed. These treasures would come at a cost of the boys and their sanity, as they mysteriously fell ill and their mothers were punished with curse: losing their husbands to separation followed by suicide soon after. The fathers and sons had fallen into despair with all the things they never said, and all the questions left unanswered in a generation filled with injustice: a time where power could buy unlimited secrets. There were two boys in particular who would change their tune of accusation: following his death and the arrival of their own sons. The King Midas was left with his life and legacy questioned by the world once more. The credence of time had given the men the strength to tell their stories for free and with explicit details, as their families rallied behind them for the first time. Apologizing for their absence and disbelief by excusing themselves from hearing the details they had allowed to happen, but still sharing their own experience as to how he had enticed them to look in the other direction as he fondled the boys and stared down upon their anuses as he ejaculated. The boys had spent lives filled with curses of darkened minds, as though they still felt the unease of King Midas sneaking up behind them or standing behind each door. Their childhood trauma known to the world, and made light of child rape...until it was considered no longer a joke. The two boys degenerated in spirit and the irreparable damage that had been “gifted” to them by the King Midas and his deranged sexual needs. The world watched and performed skits of their molestation and coverups for decades while the boys grew to be men, as young boys and molestation had became synonymous with the legacy of the late-great-King Midas. He destroyed the lives of many and left his own biological children to pay the debt of his absence, and apologizing for all the stages that he never walked.

The abandoned fort he lived in: served as headquarters for the secret meeting Artemis had set up with famous daughter of the King Midas. The daughter was named after the City of Love, and her socialite status somehow preceded her late father. Her sociability and grounded-ness often praised by the citizens still in mourning over their dead king. It was this assumption of likeness that Artemis would need: her help in guiding the two boys back from the darkened place that held captive in their minds. Artemis understood that the two boys had fell deep within themselves emotionally, as they acted out to avoid facing the truths of their pasts: concerning behaviors that would later be considered as obvious signs of abuse. The boys had swayed their oppositions too many times for the public to care, and it forced the boys to began to weep thick tears filled with salt and shame. Artemis saw their curses consuming them from within: taking each one by the hand and walking the two back to the palace that stood directly above the door of Hades. 

Artemis walked in silence, as they wept with their head held low and weary: she asked no questions for the two boys, as they shook in fear and managed to hyperventilate in sync trailing behind her. One boy asked her to hold his box of cursed rings for a moment, and she carried it in her pocket until she fell ill with self-disgust and sexual depravity. The strange relic held a curse that made her stroke the sweating palms of the two boys as they grasped her hands as though their lives depended on it. This small gesture triggered the boys to cry and snot fell from their noses, as they began to fear that the dead King Midas had come back for them once more. Artemis somehow forgot about the box of cursed rings in her arrow quiver, and with their enchanted inability to allow her to remove the cursed item from her bag. The importance of this burdening trinket would bring Artemis unending frustration: that eventually caused her to pull out her own hair as she scanned the land...looking around urgently and straining to remember whatever she was desperately looking for. She guided the two boys until one day she accidentally dropped her left hand away: the boy felt her tickle on his palm, his heart quickening in pace, as he wished that no other child would ever be burdened with the task of holding the hand of the King Midas. The boy had finally cried enough tears salt-filled tears: that he had gained enough strength and courage to hold his head proud and high once more, and with this lightened load...he was finally able to look ahead to his own future as he walked.

The boy pulled his hand away from Artemis, as she cursedly tickled the air thinking about the Viking and the men she had once laid with: walking with her head hanging low in a shame that is only familiar to women. The boy reached into her bag and took back his cursed rings, as he now feared that Artemis was too far gone in her suffering to resurrect. The boy put the box back in his own pocket, as the rings no longer burned his heart with the ashes churning stiffly within himself: he had finally removed the golden-laced toxicity from his mind and body...for once and for all. The King Midas no longer scared the boy: bringing him ease as they continued on their way to meet with the daughter of King Midas.  Artemis wept until her back began to ache and she finally could walk no further: forcing her to lay down in objection. The boy with cursed rings sought external aid for her speedy recovery: his first instinct being to contact and seek assistance from the brave Argonauts that Artemis always praised. He walked away and sought for advice by way of the sky: explaining that had Artemis fell deathly ill in spirit, as her body struggled to hang on. The boy waited for any sign of reply as the three continued on their way to meet with daughter of Minos: the girl that unknowingly stood guard at the entrance of Hades.

From the sky the answer came from a future eight hours away, and Artemis was still in need of aid: left destitute and weeping, as she lay beached like a whale. The famed Captain of the Argonauts had been gave suggestion that the boy ask Artemis about the whereabouts of her husband to break her spell. To this weird: shortened and simple explanation...the boy shrugged his shoulders in doubt but decided it was worth a shot. He had known Artemis had never wed, and was curious to what this suggestion was based around: bored as he sat next to the small girl that lay crumpled on the floor. Artemis lay still holding the hand of the other boy, as he held her hand and marching in place: still lost in his own thoughts and memories. Artemis began screaming and crying to Gods of Olympus that it may all come to an end: if only to make the pain stop for one night. She held her eyes glazed-over and filled with tears, as the basins of her sockets collected her overflowing grief stricken tears as trophies. The boy finally asked aboot the whereabouts of Artemis’s hypothetical husband, his secret question being accepted as reality, as she suddenly smirked and swiftly rolled on the ground, as though she were performing an intensive exercise drill. She pulled her arm away from the remaining cursed boy, as she stood up sharply and appeared annoyed and prepared to fight. Instinctively glaring in the direction of the lucid boy, as she barked orders asking him to stop demanding so much of her. Despite the fact the boy had never said such a thing. Artemis gained focus as her eyes fell on the boy, and she realized her surroundings once more. The fearsome presence of the woman made the man stand upright in anxiousness, but as he still managed to catch her drowsy gaze, and realized he had stared into the eyes a soulless woman that could only belong to the monster: known only as Medusa. Instead of apologizing for his need to stare: he broke a smile and speculated if he had only been a very small part of some sort of battle strategy of this crazed-eyed woman. He sighed in relief that he had never had aligned himself as her enemy...in the understandable fear of what this person was capable of. Artemis saw his friendly guile smile and rubbed her eyes for comfort: knowing that she had broken past a dark spell. She asked the boy with the cursed rings what ailment his companion was still victim to: as they tried to figure out why he was still marching blindly in place. He seemed to be aware of their meeting, as he suddenly began to walk backwards without any regard to the laws of gravity. The two caught up to the man as he lead the way, and they began to try and find the magic words that may allow them to break his spell. They threw out every chant they could think of with no success. Once more, Artemis asked for the advice of her famed Argonauts as a last resort. The three waited for a response, as they wandered off to a future undecided and unknown: hellbent on returning to the gates of Hades.

 As the days continued: their journey fell short in crucial light, and time seemed to quickened in pace. One day...a reply came by sky: Artemis finished reading just as a man casually walked up in a way that serendipitously suggested that he was aware that she had just finished reading the message. The man introduced himself as Perseus, and he shook their hands individually, as they followed the third man walking briskly backwards. The man said he had borrowed the winged sandals of Hermes and was sent as help by the Argonauts. His warm personality was welcomed, as the man bowed in front of Artemis and presented her with a square shield that bore the same shimmering crest found on the case of her Golden Fleece. Artemis took the shield and held it up to her tooth, as she asked for the words able to diminish the spell of the boy who was dancing and walking backwards simultaneously. Artemis saw her reflection in the shield, and finally chanted the words gifted to her by her best friend Hippolyta once more: “you is kind…you is smart...you is important”. The boy halted shifting feet and opened his mouth to speak, but instead of acknowledging the other three: he began to yell defensively in a stern tone: “I’m not a dancer”...over and over again. The others glanced at one another, confused as there hadn’t been anyone asking if the boy were a dancer: and baffled as to why the counter-curse had managed to force him to  repeat this shrill yelling in an unbreakable loop. Evidently Artemis had chosen the wrong chant: amusedly returning to her shield as she searched for further spells. The other two men watched him argue with nobody, yelling their introductions over the boys awkward yells as politely as they could. The four people unknowingly standing directly at the gates of the ranch that stood as fortress: protecting Hades.

The kingdom was empty and sinister with the echoes of King Midas, and their arrival was announced with the shrill yelling of the boy stuck declaring himself “not a dancer. The four had forfeited any element of surprise because of it, as they stood there waiting at the high pronged gates. The gold leafed gates finally parted: leaving the four suddenly standing opposite of the daughter of King Midas. She stood indifferent to their weary travels, and her privilege: a curse left behind by King Midas. Leftovers of the cherished gold paint that ruled his life. They met the girl with kind words, for their resentment was towards a frail old man...dead and gone. They shouted their greetings over their lost friends yelling: the girl bore-idly began to follow the boy near them...yelling about his lack of dancing title to nobody and anybody, all at once. She had no hellos to the party of four: simply reaching out her hand, as she pulled the screaming boys hand out of his pocket. He had been walking the entire time with his hand out of sight: grasping his own genitalia, and the other three hadn’t noticed this small detail. As his hand lay exposed: he presented a single index finger pointing upwards with a light feminine grace. The three suddenly stood gazing downward at an immaculate white sequin-encrusted glove. The daughter of King Midas said nothing, but simply began to peel her fathers glove from the boy as he twitched. She avoided looking at her guests, as they obviously wondered how the daughter had initially known what to do:  the glove finally unwrapped from around the boys thin wrist. He fell to the ground with a thud, as he instantaneously fainted in relief. He slept a deep slumber momentarily, and awoke suddenly with his voice returned to a normal volume...allowing Artemis to jokingly asked him if he was a dancer. The boy finally smiled and curiously nodding yes and softly asking why she asked. as though he was surprised by the question and her insight. The three friends and the daughter of King Midas stood there smiling amused at his expense, but didn’t let the facts of the cursed items keep themselves from seeing one another any differently. The boy with sequin-encrusted glove stood up and patted his pockets as though he were looking for something in particular. The daughter of King Midas pointed downward at the gravel below and swooped the cursed glove without hesitation before the boy could retrieve it. She turned to face the oversized clock on the lawn with no explanation: quietly leading the other four into the dark as she turned away and walked.

The four followed her as she purposely walked up to the massive door of the house, and they began to feel her silently crying: hiding her tears from her guests, as they finally stopped at the entry of the abandoned palace. Artemis reached out and set her hand on her shoulder for comfort, and informed the girl that she had no intentions of going into the palace because it held vast potential to make her and  two of the men sickened with the truth. Artemis suggested to the daughter of King Midas: a possible solution that simply required the location of the evil tree known as the “Giving Tree” that was rumoured to be planted somewhere on the grounds of the compound. The daughter of King Midas turned strictly in understanding agreement: prepared to lead the four again, but Artemis halted her from leaving the group this time around. Since realizing the cursed items petrified the mind and poisoned the holder: Artemis could no longer allow people to carry the weight and pain of the two items that were vexed on behalf of the name King Midas. Artemis directed her to stand aboot ten feet away, and prepared her to catch her underhand throw: instructing her that she’d toss her the small box of rings, as she slipped it into the sequined glove. Tying it off on the end like a sack of potatoes as an extra safety precaution. She forewarned her to “catch” politely, and tossed the evil items with a slight tilt of the wrist, and instructed the others to set ahead: continuing to pass along the items via teamwork with a respectable corn-hole form. They passed it along: leap frog style with haste, as dusk and potential darkness fell upon the ranch that stood atop the gateway to Hades.

The group moved effortlessly and with little conversation, as they bean-bag tossed the evil that encompassed the two mundane items with a nonchalant spirit. The boys stood tall and Artemis pressed her team on with pep: unknowing of whatever past the two boys had once shared with the daughter of King Midas. There was some sort of hidden history there, but since Artemis also grew up a Princess...she was helpless in asking for details. It wasn’t considered proper etiquette to ask another royal family aboot their personal affairs, and so she ignored the mood of the others all together and focused on the task at hand. Perseus however, began to ask about this unexplained dynamic and the truths of their labour slowly panned out. It was transparent that something deviant had occurred in the palace. The daughter of King Midas stopped abruptly, as she had finally found her destination, and she lazily pointed up the base of a random tree trunk that grew on the front lawn of Hades.

They surrounded the tree and stood spaced apart: playing hot potato with items that cursed its beholders, encasing the whimsical tree. With little items on hand: Artemis resorted to using the small shield with the crest of the Golden Fleece, as a shovel to disturb the hardened and crusty soil. Thinking it was a shame to resort in using such an advanced tool in such a primitive fashion. The five passed the cursed items as fast as they could in the attempt to outrace the curse that moved through them rapidly like an immensely painful electric current. The items proved to be stronger than their strategy and they each took turns screeching in pain accordingly: moving the evil hand-to hand, around the tree as Artemis frantically crouched on her offturn and dug a hole with one hand. The items had felt her efforts and began wearing down the other four, as they passed the curse between one another. Artemis finally felt the underbelly root-system of the tree and paced out her timing, as to throw the poisoned items into the shallow hole that she had just unearthed. She broke off the chain of passing: ceasing the horrific people screaming around her. She stuffed the hole with the evil objects and buried it with topsoil, as fast as she could: heaping dirt over the items, as the others finally regained consciousness. They stood in the silent darkness...for only a moment: an aroma of death and semen began to trickle from the hole, and lingered as it was captured in the fog that trailed over their feet. The putrid scent and taste forced them all to cover their noses and mouths with their hands as they moved away from tree at last, and gagged uncontrollably at the humid stench. The daughter of King Midas began to speak, as she pointed back towards the large clock on the lawn. The girl spoke softly of her views, as she understood her father had been a person and whispering her truths at last. She seemed to at least understood the dangers of pedophilia as a mental sickness, so that deemed to be helpful information for the two boys that listened intently. There were no more legal options left for them to procure justice for the past, and it became apparent that the truth had meant more than the legacy of one man. She informed the boys that an apology would never come from her on his behalf and wished to be excluded from further details of the evil tales of her child molesting father. These words of woke-ness allowed Artemis, the two boys, and Perseus to relax…for the time since having first arrived at the haunted property. Artemis had forgotten the princess had grown up with an array of strange customs: only being allowed to speak and go into the public if she had masked her face and identity. Evidently all five of them equally being masked as “invisible”: gave her comfort, as they continued to walk through the fog that swallowed the ground whole. Artemis had alt in common with the Princess: both having never gotten a childhood, and advancing their problem-solving skills because of it. The daughter of King Midas directed them back to the gates of the palace, and in the far distance: they saw the tree set itself ablaze in the distance. They quietly pushed the gates open together: fresh air rushed past their feet as the gates fell open, and the stale smelling fog instantly split away from the gate and instantly began to recede at their feet. They stood off the edge of the property and forced the gates closed with solace, as they finished the task by ripping off the crest that bore the name of King Midas in false gold paint. There would be no need for his excuses and his name to inflict further damage upon the world of music, and no need to act as though King Midas would ever return to demand the sacrifices of young boys once more. The two boys took each a piece of the crest that bore the name of King Midas and tossed them with all of their might: straight from their hip...up and over the rustic gates as they each parted ways outside the ranch that stood at the gate of Hades.

Artemis would only return to Neverland once more, as to ensure she had heard each of the boys and their stories, respecting their trials by allowing each to hold her attention individually. The least she could do was listen at the deserved capacity. The truth of their struggles were the nightmares of any man...lovably deemed with a title of father, or papa: the curse of King Midas now a common joke or forewarning to men all over the world. It would be the haunting of his hologram that would perpetuate further questions pertaining to his crimes, as the citizens had resurrected him with little precautions: unleashing insanity into the world with the press of a button. His live silhouette began to glitch and bare his crimes to the public...gazing into the souls of onlookers instead of singing and dancing. He began to crave children even in his death, as he asked in a familiar fluted tone… “can you hear them?...can you smell them?” Wishing to ejaculate himself in view of the exposed anuses of young boys, and unaware he was now dead. He felt the crowds gander at him without proof they were there, and began to screech and twist his body made up of reflections into vexing contortions. He had been the epitome of evil in his lifetime, and his crimes compiled into live data had miraculously brought him back into a state of subtle consciousness momentarily. This same error had occurred at a concert of a beloved Macivalian soul Artemis admired: the first artist to be resurrected to adhere to the growing demands of the citizens that missed him dearly. It seemed he grew in popularity over time: the more music fell into the disparities of trash laced mumblings and incoherent noises. Artemis herself had cried at the memory of losing such a poet, and felt saddened by the public: seething that she couldn’t recollect her location on the precise day King Minos had died. Such woe-filled memories had lead to the creation of the expanding series of these man-crafted holograms: each would cause its formidable engineers to commit suicide, as they felt artificial presence buildup within each summoned ghost. They were bound by their occupation to stay quiet and watch as the holograms became semi-autonomous and confused, as to which world they were living in. These engineers had caused a rip in the dimensional planes that separated the living from the dead for the sake of entertainment, and on behalf of a rapidly dying music industry. The growing glitches were labeled as simple hacks...causing an influx of the growing number engineers committing suicide, as their jobs were threatened under non-disclosure agreements and their thinning sanity left for them to salvage at their own expense. These poor souls had left Artemis to doubt the constraints of entertainment as it pertained to the dead, as she used a single manuscript: to warn her readers of the catalysts that these holograms provided for the evils and sorrows of the world. There had been a reason why the dead were labeled with the warning suggesting to the living that some should be left to rest in peace, and they had broken the laws of the universe by demanding resurrections of those long-gone. Artemis felt herself worry whenever she slept: fearing she would be summoned back upon the living in the body of a past life, as her old body had never been returned to the Earth to properly decompose and her spirit restless. She would find herself remembering another lifetime of being a famed orphan with blonde hair and a sparkling dress, and wondered why such dreams and memories alluded her from living in the present. It had been a life she had forgotten and intentionally left behind her, as she now blindly wandered through purgatory and hummed silly songs that proved she was eternally grateful for the melanin deeply embedded into her skin. Unlike the blonde diva: Artemis knew she was always protected by her Indigenous Warriors and never forced to be alone on the trail of tears she walked.

Next Chapter: [ XVI ] Artemis and Pandora’s Box