Artemis often forgot where her duties when it came to boundaries, she’d forget to take off her lab coat at home routinely, and it was due to this habit she assumed: that she found herself alone after 30 years. Lifetimes ago she were nothing more than a feral child, left exiled from society for the protection of the public. Now Artemis was amused as the occasions arose to bask in her own success as a public servant. From criminal to government-funded scientist. Artemis liked the ring it held, and knew her ancestors couldn’t argue that she wasn’t trying to make the most of their Genocide. Artemis avoided reporting to anybody and everybody: she had given up on trying to live in two-worlds...when neither environments had ever accepted her in the first place. Artemis knew she were a recluse, and it were a topic of public discussion: her bachelorette status, and the judgements that were cast by elder Indigenous Warriors that craved grandchildren. It was difficult to express how daunting and unsexy one feels...when you have elders speaking on her behalf as thought she was an animal being bred intentionally. Being an Indigenous Warrior Princess meant her ovaries were expected to pull heavy barter and extra dowery (cattle, hides, labour) when, and if that particular bridge were ever to be crossed. These types of Traditional concepts were outdated and Artemis hated them, but the reality was...she had to consider all these aspects anyways since her race was nearing extinction according to the public records and maths. It was all due to these vast cultural extremities and pressures that Artemis stood anxiously as a statue...still single: left in limbo, and too bored to object.

When it came to general public knowledge of cultural practices Artemis knew that the dead-eyed savages were often too lazy to try and even learn their own culture...let alone hers, and so she fell wiser than to ever expect anything from them after a very short period of time. Artemis had once attempted to explain her sadness to her procreational duties as a an Indigenous Warrior Princess to the Viking. After observing his lack of empathy on the subject, she knew they could never be together. Not only was he a dead-eyed, grey-haired savage, but his heart seemed to make Artemis fall ill with grief and homesickness somehow. She told him of her experiences as a youth and her only best friend growing up. His name was Buckles and he was the sole reason Artemis still managed to smile everyday. He died shortly after reaching adulthood, as he was murdered in his sleep, stabbed to death on his own Reservation. Artemis told the Viking, how Buckles had been on his farewell home visit before he was to be deployed to the battlefront on the oiled deserts across the sea. It was this devastating loss that held Artemis hostage each year, as she continued to fight the darkness that had followed her from Hades. It was this moment of breakage that would derail a student athlete...to a path filled with violence and self-destruction for a duration that of what would seem like forever. It was a sadness that led to the random day that she found herself standing in the middle of a wooden court: single, and finally worried she had wasted her life away playing a game...when everyone around her seemed to be busy building lives and being happy. Artemis lived in a situation where science and athletics were often two separate entities of her life, and they held such a different dichotomy in personalities: holding up either masks became exhausting for Artemis. It would appear this was a grave she had managed to dig herself: with her choice in profession and sports, the facts  alone supported her bachelorette status and left her with little room to object.

A pretense: growing up Artemis and Buckles were a mere pair to a trio: as the third of the squad was a soft-spoken fellow Indigenous Warrior known simply as...AJ. He was gentle and kind, as he was notorious for his comfortable sincerity and surrounding himself with female friends as companions: his sexuality was without title, and assumedly more female by most. In the Indigenous Warrior culture Artemis had been raised to understand that there is a difference between the genetic build-up of male/female structure and the emotional/psychological aspects. The latter is called Two-Spirited: which just means the person has an invisible personality trying to express dominance, portrayed through hyper-masculinity or hyper-flamboyant demeanors. It were as though it could be seen as a cup, which is overflowing with doubling energy that alternated in which qualities it brought to the surface. They were always encouraged to decide for themselves which person they felt most comfortable presenting each day, and the title and position often held great respect in their community. It was often questioned of AJ of his status as a two-spirited individual, but he was so nice that it never seemed to matter to those that asked. As a late teen, Artemis had found out that AJ had been murdered at drunken house event on the Reservation: the culprits were none other than the dead-eyed savages that had visited the sovereign lands for the night as guests. This event destroyed Buckles and he began to spiral, as he drank his sorrow away with the aid of the poison given by Hera. It wouldn’t take long for Artemis to lose control of the situation and she had no understanding of how she could possibly help Buckles as he helplessly drown. Nothing could have prepared either of them for what they were left to learn next. Following the funeral, services and criminal investigation: it was discovered that AJ had been sexually assaulted on the night of his murder, and that the assault had occurred to his body postmortem: his violated corpse left on the floor for hours. The gruesome imagery of the event: was all that Artemis knew of the dead-eyed savages and their culture. She thought to herself hysterically…“why would anyone do such a thing?”: affirming to herself that these invaders were barbaric in every way, and never to be trusted. Necrophilia was crime in most place around the world, and yet these homophobes had used it knowingly to prove their “straightness” without an ounce of shame. It would be years of drinking their anger away, for both Artemis and Buckles: before they both somehow landed back on their feet together. She was now a scientist, and he a soldier. The story of AJ held both Artemis and Buckles hostage for far too long, as they knew justice for their fallen Indigenous Warrior would never be served with due diligence. The loss of the two men would devastate an entire community, and she remained barely standing and unable to take care of herself in any capacity. Artemis was now alone, as the Indigenous Warriors left their posts without Buckles to direct them: she was unprotected once more...with no one, that truly cared enough to remind Artemis that she and her dazzling smile were more than just an object.

It would take her traveling overseas: before Artemis could comprehend that it hadn’t been the presence of people that crippled her with fear, but only the dead-eyed savages that triggered her agoraphobia. These turkey eating barbarians often made sport: of raping women and children on sovereign lands, laughing as they returned to the their lands: ruled and protected by the perverted Boar, crowned king. The sovereign laws didn’t pertain to these dead-eyed savages, as they were not obligated to report their genome in a registry: often used that fact to their advantage to defile the land and its people. Brutally raping: anything, and everything as they pleased....spilling their sperm without caution. It was their dire lack of social and empathy skills, that made Artemis annoyed by her attachments to the Viking.  It was this unlucky pairing: that encouraged her name to be brought up for public ridicule deep within the ranks of her Indigenous Warriors. They called her affection towards him a fetishization, as Artemis was cursed by the Gods to love all forms of self-harm. The idea of public dictations on the matter of procreation wasn’t glamorous in the slightest: equivocally as treacherous in embarrassing nature, as though she were having a partner sign a contract of potential binding in the far future...stating their genome was up to par before promising to fuck one another. Artemis often worried that these seemingly fake rules that only applied to the Indigenous Warriors: had been the original sin and the root of whatever was making them so sick in spirit and body. The obsession with blood-quantum ruled their lives for generations, and the end result seemed to be annihilation followed by extinction: no matter which way the numbers were crunched. Scientifically speaking, the Indigenous Warriors couldn’t continue their bloodlines for another three generations: without the practice of inbreeding. Artemis was not aboot that...(unlike the Questionable Queen across the sea). Talking of such taboo topics with her Indigenous Warrior elders, often lead to an infinity of arguments: Artemis ended up being the loser in a majority of their  debates. Belittled for being “childish” on the occasion, as they demanded she brought them a baby to swaddle in a wool blanket. It wouldn’t be until after Artemis met the Viking...that these elders would finally begin allowing her to speak on the matter, as they saw that Artemis found preserving her bloodline to be an honorary suggestion. Unattached: to the conservative expectations they held for her, and feeling threatened that they may no longer have any say as to her actions.

Artemis would never tell the Viking of these arguments, and their relationship was only expressed through platonic friendship. Holding the silent acknowledgement: that their cultures were too different for them to have specific conversations. Artemis had been born rich with culture, and the Viking had none...meaning the two could never be together by default of their differences. It took two years...of Artemis following the Viking around and projecting the largest presence of burden unto him: her silly sway and smile always in tact whenever they were together. One summer day, she finally left his side to continue her task of considering cultural preservation via baby-making: lost by his need to drag her along everywhere he went. It took two years...for her to wise up to his games and leave with the realization that he stunted her ability to succeed, as long as she threw herself at him or act obligated to answer his array of daily questions. She left him sitting sternly in a gymnasium: brewing in his anger towards himself, as she departed with only the memories of their unending infatuation. Always proud of her friend, and enthusiastic that he somehow existed in her world. The Viking would be the one Artemis would call her husband for the next half-decade without hesitation, but in a burdened sense that she felt annoyed and responsible. Artemis always frustrated that he was lost somewhere in the world: most likely saying weird shit in public (which is evidently a normal fear to have, and quite commonly found with other married people). They were an old wedded pair that bickered and constantly picked at the other…seeing who would start raising their voice first, yelling in public as some sort of weird foreplay. Without one another present: each of them could be seen as a handful to the world. She often thought aboot her memories of the Viking: amused by his socially awkward attempts to initiate flirting. She admired his ability to say whatever was on his mind, or instruct others with his booming voice. It gave her joy to watch him boss someone around: that wasn’t her for a change.  Artemis caught herself looking for his grey hair and blue eyes amongst the other dead-eyed savages...no matter where she went. It bothered Artemis to know that his absence was intentional on his part, and so she forced herself to judge him solely based upon his actions.

Artemis wasn’t egotistical in terms of needing to fulfill her royal duties firsthand, and had even tried to donate her priceless eggs at some point in her young adulthood. She felt awful: being stingy with her body when there were legitimate couples, straight and two-spirited alike:  longing for their own children and unable to conceive. Now that science had caught up to Artemis, she knew how to make her contributions in more ways than one as a Princess. Even if she decided to continue on with her life as a single Indigenous Warrior Princess: she knew that is was not up to these elders to dictate her on how she used her body. The elders grew bitter with resentment: knowing they were of no importance to her choice on marriage, and jealous that only her papa had the right to object.

These elders, were the exact same ones that had opened Pandora’s Box in the first place...having assimilated their children instead of running for their lives and seeking asylum elsewhere. Artemis knew her elders were sick, as many argued with her to let things go if she expressed her exhaustion from being fetishized her entire life. The basis of her anger stemmed in her trauma, as a rape survivor. Her story always brought looks of disgust, since it had been a dead-eyed savage who that once penetrated her without consent, and Artemis had been unarmed and only one and a half years old. It felt as though she had been brought into this world without reason, and raped within her first two years...being told it was her own fault by strangers whenever they asked what she had been wearing. She’d scan their reaction whenever she informed them that she had been wearing a onesie with buttons in crotch….an obvious sign that she had been asking for sex. Her vulgarity and truths were her curse: a punishment for her fathers absence soon after her arrival at birth. Her bastard status often mocked by the Indigenous American Warriors...equating her abandonment with evil. It had only been her papa (her grandfather’s older brother) that would protect her from their divisive words and glares, and his passing: allowed the Indigenous Warriors to make her the butt of every joke. Once more Artemis was unprotected. They told anyone who would listen: how she was possibly the worst Princess out of all the Indigenous Warriors, and over time they had forgotten the false demeanor that had once presented to her papa. Artemis missed her papa, in a fashion that made her appear rebellious at times, and she often honored him by attempting to make those around her smile. She would spend her life crediting the decorated veteran and his expectations of her during times of her success, and avoided her Redwood forest at all costs without him. Denial of his death still active.

Her papa had been the only Indigenous Warrior that had ever went out of his way to defend her endlessly from the masses: questioning her aloof smile and unkempt hair. He had once given her permission to travel to the stars as a kid, after she had casually quipped that she thought she could do it. Artemis became entranced with the idea soon after watching a skyboat explode. She became fixated by the morbid fascination of the accident, and enticed by the duty itself. Her papa never mentioned the difficulty of the rigorous process, or how few women of colour were allowed to leave for the stars: the only two responses she’d receive frequently to this day. It was her bond to this old Indigenous Warrior: that now kept breath in her lungs, and tears in her eyes. Without her papa fighting beside her: she had become weary from the doubt cast upon her from the dead-eyed savages, and disappointed in her Indigenous Warriors as they gleefully joined in. Artemis: had no way to tell the world of her endlessly hurt, or what it meant to be an Indigenous Warrior Princess...that was seen as only a joke. She lived off the rare memories, of the days where her Father had walked by her without speaking: raising her chin whenever she held bad posture. She’d cry to herself at night: thinking of the single roses he left on her bedside table on occasion...wondering if he’d be proud of her today. He always commanded her to understand her importance, as he spent her childhood fighting battles that belonged to her: simply so she could smile in peace. He corrected strangers who attempted to parent her, and warded them off as he informed them, “she’s fine…let her read”, as they noticed she avoided human contact: by reading any book she could find. He had watched her dance in front of the masses: wearing her Traditional Princess attire, and never mentioned he had once been kidnapped, and forced him to assimilate under their legally enforced dogma. Baptizing him with their child molesting ways: all in the name of patriotism and a religious cult...that remains barely active. 

Oddly enough, her papa would often joke aboot someone wanting to “steal her”: every time she managed to wander off as a child. She’d find his humor alarming now, as he never got around to telling her that he had been moderately serious. Instead,  he quietly stood by her side and introduced Artemis to the places of their ancestors: standing tall amongst the Redwood trees. He taught her the importance of accountability and honesty, and the two would argue whenever she questioned what was to be considered just. He let her wear her boys clothing and encouraged her overly-competitive behavior: no matter how extreme or comedic her behaviors were. It bothered Artemis to be called by her Yurok name, as they still managed to make fun of her for being named Sir. Artemis had grown used to the other Native kids chanting, as they called her a boy...eventually making her adolescence very confusing. Her Indigenous Warriors would jest aboot her status as royalty, as they fell into patriarchal chaos themselves. Her papa would correct others to say her name right, with the respectful tone meant for a Princess: occasionally  throw around witty commentary on her behalf. He’d gloat aboot how Artemis could beat their sons on wooden courts, as she were mighty in spirit and always dressed for the occasion. When that didn’t work: he’d call men “ladies” and Artemis “Sir” when he excused himself, as to prove to their ignorance whenever they were left awkwardly standing alone: left at her command. This trick Artemis still used on male dead-eyed savages, as they appeared to be extra fragile upon having their masculinity questioned. To these memories: Artemis knew that these dead-eyed savages were weak whenever they doubted her, and often took advantage of how little they thought of her: simply by ignoring them, and succeeding in doing her own thing. Her papa often told her to mind her own business and go play with her ball, whenever she invested in others. His ability to move her to action with few words was impressive in comparison to the other children. Artemis now lived in her Father’s shadow, and worked towards her goals of operating a false star that orbited the Earth. If only to prove to her Father...that she loved him forever for believing in her...when nobody had ever asked him to: her love admiration for the fallen Warrior forever active.

Artemis now used her voice to explain how they had gotten to this place of grey morality, as she pinpointed their downfall as a culture. She expressed the rising statistics in crimes, that now fit the words they held as normal: sad that her elders had forced to learn English and disappointed when they began praising the a false God. Their Genocide had been implemented on behalf of a God that even the dead-eyed savages now had abandoned. Artemis ran, everyday or even occasionally in her dreams: always running for her life...in spite of them all. She sat single and focused on her career, but distracted by the past she forced herself to leave behind. Artemis wasn’t sure how to explain how empty she felt in her heart without the Viking at times, but still felt obligated to the idea that peril danger loomed nearer, and that she wasn’t supposed to stop running without him near. The only way to fight-off her heartbreak was to remain in motion: leaving Artemis to heal herself with unabashed tears falling gently upon her pillow in the quiet evenings. To this new challenge of healing: Artemis felt her weakening heart beat slower, as it struggled to remain active.

Next Chapter: *[ XVII ] Artemis and the Siren*