Artemis informed her two friends that her net was weighed down by the shimmering beads and heavy threads that lined her Golden Fleece. She felt the weight of the world bearing down upon her shoulders and crushing her spine in her indifference towards romance. She explained to Hippolyta and Yoyo that she’d rather light herself on fire, than to be present between the meeting of Orion and the Viking. The woman found her dramatic romance to be entertaining, and so they chose to help her in breaking down the weight of her Golden Fleece. They broke apart three of the dense silver beads that weighed down her piece of leather, and Artemis moved from sight as Yoyo cured them into shining totems. The three women now wore the crest Artemis upon their necks, filled with flowers and goodbyes in the shape of a whale tale. A sign of good fortune...to all those who bowed to the Princess trapped in the body of a beached whale. Yoyo had turned Orion into a panda and named him Koga: until Artemis was ready to Walk Along with the Gods once more. Artemis knew Orion loved her wee high-fives and accelerated pep. Yoyo and Hippolyta would rely on her hugs and abilities to yell commands for the pair to remember one another once more. The emotional tether kept Orion near, and the two women marveled at their ability to repeat the same mistakes, as a pre-wedded pair destined to destroy the world. Artemis often doubted if she deserved her two best friends Yoyo and Hippolyta. Her monochrome thoughts forcing her to accept the fact that she were burden in the flesh. Artemis had omitted from telling her friends of the endless curses that followed her mind from Hades, as they were too dark for them to know and unexplainable in origin. Artemis would slowly continue to cry as she eased the two women into her life story, and she watched as they cried in horror at the pages of her vexed chapters. Artemis had wrote a book that was filled with an unnamed loneliness and a disparity that almost made her seem unrecognizable. Ending her anguish by catering to her impulses by ways of adrenaline stimulation, as she found bliss only by standing on the ledges of skyscraping towers. This was the antithesis of the American dream wasn’t it…are you not entertained America?

Artemis had avoided writing and editing three chapters, as they were belted and strung together in their ugly desperation. She hated admitting her weaknesses, and loathed her love of thrill-seeking. The two qualities she had brazenly hid from her two best friends, had become the missing pieces they had forgotten or lost over time. The women decided to break up the belt she wore into three layers, as they broke apart their separate ways: web, net and radio. Artemis had finally resorted to friendship and companionship to complete a trial, and so she finally clued her two friends on the entirety of her mission. Needing them to scan multiple dimensions in order to find a future friend: Shultz, as to trade the mand good fortune in the success that they save a Robin. She needed his assistance in delivering her message of sorrow, as the man was cursed with the madness of Lewy Body. Artemis had been sent to carry him to the underworld in order to complete her Odyssey. The world needed the Robin, and his absence had spun the world into chaos as the universe fell to its knees and grieved the famed genie for having finally been set free. She had carried him blindly through the darkness, and felt him take his last breaths in her arms. Artemis had bore a torch and cloth that reminded the world that the Robin was injured and required medical attention. She had been the muse of lady liberty, and the Robin had been the flame that kept her torch lit throughout dimensions as an indicator of their reunited existence as the deadly horsemen of America.

Artemis had returned to halt the curses of the Amazon, as the captives of the consume jungles had fallen ill, and the workers that ran the warehouses of Hermes toppled over in stroke and exhaustion. The demi-god left the dead on the floor for over thirty minutes, to shake fear into his other workers as they rushed around the tepid corpse. The bald Siren bought the silence of the workers, pushing them to their deaths for profits. Artemis had needed her friends and confidants like Schultz to inspire her to hold the torch of journalistic intrigue in the still of the night. She had nothing to offer him besides a firmer handshake. Something that’d serve to be invaluable with the men of his family. Artemis praised the young man for his unfulfilled fate, as it was apparent that courage had skipped generations. The smiling friends were proof that their generation came forth as unified tsunamis of change. America.

Artemis needed help distributing her epic story, as she was growing frantic in the engorging fear that she had begun to live in a state of absolute emergency. She had needed her worlds to be displayed in full, and her errors seen in a verbal intersectionality divided chart. Artemis wrote a vague outline of her Odyssey in the suspicions that she’d soon need a vessel to serve as a Horcrux. The paranoia Artemis displayed casually had forced the two women to laugh, as they quizzically asked what she had done. Artemis explained with an honest reply, that the issue had only been what she hadn’t done. Rubbing her temple in exhaustion, as she elaborated that they had occasional arguments over the Viking his past sexual proclivities, but she never acted on whatever feelings they held for one another. They agreed the mystery of their proximity had challenged them to communicate with decisive wording, and allowed others to spectate their charming flirtation. Artemis rarely described their interactions, and the urgency in the story forced Yoyo and Hippolyta listen with the intent to form defensive counter strike plans immediately following. Such seriousness from a grinning woman, had always been seen as an indicator of troubled times ahead in the culture of Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis avoided their smiling and snickering as she explained her situation. Consulting the two that a woman with a shell and a pearl had once sent her minions to follow Artemis home and they had captured her portrait without consent. She wondered why the woman had resorted to abandoning professionalism and stalking, as a desperate ditch effort to try and understand the Viking. Artemis had laid nakey with a slew of randoms, but not this one. Her manic laughter suddenly making sense, as her friendship with the man of her dreams was both ironic and tragic to say the least. She had chosen the life of a sufferer, and lived in the decomposing warmth provided by unrequited love and hopeless romance. Artemis had finally rubbed her wide eyes enough to resist from playing stupid. Suggesting that she were in constant danger of the wrath of a woman who mistrusted the Viking and his naked ways. The Siren lived in agony of the idea of Artemis, as her jealousy cripplingly broke down her immune system by default. Artemis had been cursed with boredom and indifference, and her polite compliance had served as a welcoming for the Siren to set her minions on her path. Artemis had argued with the Viking over the issue on two occasions, but she knew he only feared what Artemis would say to his outraged Siren. Such women, were those that wore red hats and matted blonde hair. They were cursed to roll their blue eyes, as they stood defensive to the ideas that they were being“forced” to accept by some monogamous liberal overlords that hid in the shadows of fake news. The trivial that was necessary for change to occur and science to expand, as time allowed diversity to extend into the norms of public society. The woman stood in vitriol passive aggressiveness to the acceptance that such an angry brown woman captured the attention of the Viking with her presence. Artemis had no reason to take arms up against a woman whose house she hadn’t ever wrecked. In her past she’d have called such ugliness a fair challenge, but she had matured and learned that such white-trash culture was not acceptable to her brand as a public figure. Artemis needn’t cheat her way into the hearts of the men she adored, and the worrisome woman was left to overthink her expectations of Artemis. The woman had won the Viking, and still found reasons to miserable in her strange disdain for Artemis. The gluttony of privilege now kept her hostage to the vengeful distrust the Siren held against the Viking. Their common-law marriage was pretty indicative of the aging generation that now convoluted the dreams of the upcoming leaders of America.    

Artemis had used the example of failed romance to assess her stability. It was only after a heated debate with the Viking that she decided to gouge out her own sight and flee her homeland of towering bridges. Artemis had travelled North to finish her studies without distractions, and met Yoyo and Hippolyta. They had caught her as she stood at the edge of sanity, and they provided her with a magical blue light that calmed her emotionally. They called him Orion, and he had salvaged her heart sexually. Artemis eventually saved herself by severing her tethers with both the golden fuckboys, as they were both her dreams and nightmares. She abandoned their toxic love to pursue herself and explore the prison she called America. 

She took guilt in missing one man or the other, and took their absence in understanding to mean that the world would keep spinning on its axis for another day without interruption. Artemis would always find herself at a loss by all the things she never told Orion in the moment. She hated herself for her inability to care for him in his times of need, due to her ailment of recent heartbreak. They relinquished their fairytale by competing over who could be the worst. Orion had fought valiantly to prove that he was the worst out of the pair, by fucking anything he pleased and asking for forgiveness with his presence. Artemis had won the situation by way of meticulous calculations. Striking Orion with a proclamation of mercy that left him naked and exposed to his own past. Artemis had proved her friends to be more honorable than those that surrounded Orion. The victory had transformed her into a nagging hag in his eyes, as Orion no longer wished for monogamy from her as punishment for her caring. Artemis was finally left alone to finally see him for the entirety of who he was, and the destruction of her harsh criticisms meant she had been as disappointed, as all those that had once called Orion a fuck up.  Artemis had no problem in admitting Orion could always upset her with his promiscuity, as Artemis had a curved spine and was unable to stand up on day...let alone provide sexual favors. She felt shame in how much Orion prized sex, as she had only wanted romance of epic proportions. Her chains to reality had contributed to her weariness, as she replaced her jealousy of the able-bodied with smiles and extra efforts. Artemis had found that the best form of revenge was to carry on with her Odyssey with indifference to what her hoes did in her absence. Offended that her lover had resorted to cheap tactics that were only praised by those with no culture: found only in America.

Hippolyta and Yoyo saw she was finally serious for a change: the ability to finally seclude Orion from her plans had meant that something was devastatingly wrong. Artemis held a private council, and ignored their judgements, as her dependency on Orion and his protection had been a topic of argument in the past. The three women developed a complex plan, as they hid away Orion in an ancient chest and locked the Indigenous Warrior for eternity. The man stood nonchalantly naked, as he guarding over his Queen and drooled with anticipation. The couple had accidentally erased their memories in the process of this mission, and they had entrapped themselves in a smooshed and scattered dimension. Artemis had created a mechanism that transcended time and space, surrounded herself by four towering walls: burning in static fire. The lovers had been tasked with rounding up cattle of monsters and beasts alike to achieve immortality, as they used their fortress of gloom to elevate the blind citizens of America.

Artemis had avoided relationships and commitment, as she understood the value of such a commitment could serve as a potential Achilles heel: if an enemy were ever to discover her royal status. The Genocide had made Artemis paranoid all the way down to her professional doctors. Their God complexes still defended illegal sterilization and epigenetics, and the Boar saluted them by painting his hats red with blood. She had lived a noticeably lonely life, as a sudo-public figure. Her charm amongst her men displayed her lack of interest in the “specimens within her race” and left Artemis with few options. She’d love many of her friends in unique ways, but she’d often resort to calling many of them “bro” out of habit. She was only responsible for Orion, and the men knew better than to question either of the couple as to what their romantic label was momentarily. It was always up to Orion and his moods to determine their status. Artemis were a participating audience member to his show, as Orion and her Indigenous Warriors had became ill with the shame and rage of Hercules. The majority had fallen into despair, as they chugged litres of Heras poison and took out their anger on those within proximity. She was obligated to help these men and elders, as they crawled upon the floor and barked obscenities like a dog named Lewis. Artemis had done so by gaining sobriety herself, and she finally held her voice firm in correcting them, as to why she had been named Sir.  The Princess had regained the reins of Smite, as she began to paint a golden portrait of her family and create their likeness in the voids of ink. Her boredom had been a reminder that she had done this all before, and the applicable traits she had once overlooked: were her only weapons to carry into an unfair battle. Artemis had used her second person experience in a simulation: capturing the memories of a select few. The targets for her character assessments had once been whisked away into a dimension where they had successfully eradicated the race known as the Indigenous Peoples. 

Artemis had forgotten the details of these past lives over time, and she worked each night in her dreams to piece the puzzling theory of creation together. Her job wasn’t defined by any Tradition, but by the dreams that guided her way during the day. Artemis had developed a personality that gracefully kicked down doors without needing to stress her high heels, and a demeanor that refused to apologize for being interesting or fierce. Her papa had taught her hold her head high at the worst of times, and to wield her silence with tactical purpose. Artemis had loved the memories of her papa patting her head as he gave her grunts of approval to her good behavior, as she were wide-eyed and quizzical when the other children shrieked and hollered like uncaged zoo animals. Her maturity was often rewarded, as she raised her blue cup of ice’d syrups in the parking area of the one franchise store in their obscure town. They toasted to their future as leaders of the Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis had never thought of introducing anyone to her papa as her significant other, and his passing didn’t deter her standards of expectation in what type of person she’d choose to love. The Viking had changed that, and he had done so without using his body. His voice had served as her trigger of attraction, and the monotone narrative of the Viking had transitioned to amplified speech, as a direct result of their friendship. Artemis hadn’t any reason to debunk this odd occurrence, as the random old guy seemed content with his new volumes and startled anyone that he encountered with his booming voice. The two couldn’t be in the same room without the Viking edging closer to her proximity out of habit, and his outside life demanded that he abandon the nest he had built for her. The two left their church-like courts as the University built a new structure to house the five spectators they catered to. Artemis had warned the Viking that change was nearer, and they’d biker over his resistance to using Excel, and Dropbox. The Viking carried around a flippable communication device, as evidence that his world required bare minimum effort. His booming smugness was met with a replacement instructor a year after Artemis had departed. She had nothing left to argue aboot, as the world began to confirm her theories. Time had always separated Artemis from the Viking, and they accepted the missed chances of their romance by silence and misplaced anger. Their relationship would never manifest to anything grander than a pathetic scholar infatuated with her physical education instructor. The Viking was his own form of pathetic, as he shamelessly returned to her side to simply gaze at her existence. America.

It was neither worrisome or a threat to Artemis, to learn that the Viking had continued on with his generic plan of paternal bliss. Artemis feared commitment...in the way she assumed the Vikings girlfriend feared her existence. The unknowing leading the Siren open to formulate the worst possible conclusions and assumptions. Artemis was afraid of irrational jealousy, and what it provoked in even the smartest of women. It had forced Artemis to take extra security measures after she met Orion, as the man was now a living target. She had been forced to establish a small war council to defend from any potential strikes by the baby mama of the Viking...a strange reenactment from another lifetime. The three women were oblivious as to what this Siren named Dolores looked like, so Artemis created them an obscure picture of a plain woman with a shell and pearl necklace. She told them to assume the Siren were blonde, bored, and wearing the blood of the ocean on her trousers. The abrasive woman most likely wore leggings made of microfibers: fit for the women who no longer cared to put on dresses like the female Indigenous Warriors. The definitions of female elegance and class differed from that found with the Siren and the Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis had no idea of what the Siren and her basic dead-eyed savagery did as an occupation, and she hadn’t the faintest idea as to what the woman looked or sounded like...yet somehow she was everywhere. Fucking Sirens and their witchcraft. Such times were when Artemis wished she cared more, as she was always left shrugging with her disinterest. Artemis instructing her two friends to find the two love-birds: a Viking and a Siren wearing a pearl and a shell and to void her of their existence until Artemis was reborn as herself. Saddened to always have to run away from danger, and leave her soggy beloved city behind. She had been pressured into removing the Siren and the Viking forever from her sight, as the Siren and her oozing miasma were making Artemis deathly ill. A just punishment for both Artemis and the Viking: a tragic end to a non-relationship. She were endangering herself with intoxicating substances and toxic relationships and she barely escaped alive, as Artemis retreated to sovereign lands of the Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis would even pity this faceless Siren, as she knew that the Viking well enough, to know that he  had a keen eye for women that glowed brown. A point of annoyance for Artemis, as they had previously held a public argument over the way the looked longingly at her friend Guzman: an actual Indian from the East. He decided it was in his best interest: to ask Artemis for her name and their friendship status until she threw him aside in her jealousy. Artemis would cry in the still of night: knowing she were of ugly body, crooked spine and a darkened mind to match her physical pain. She had little compared to the childlike laziness that Guzman flaunted. Artemis knew she would never be the famed beauty that the Viking longed for and desired, and she hadn’t the energy to fill him in on her medical issues. Their argument as to his wandering eye had alerted a minion of the Siren: summoning her Winkler once more, as Artemis was left shoo-ing the strange cock-eyed girl to avoid questions. Artemis had paid forty-thousand to be stalked by the employees of the University, and left humiliated by her own willingness to participate in their shit-show for over two years. The experience served as ammunition that her elders had been right all along. There was nothing that these dead-eyed individuals could offer her that could possibly to enrich her life. Artemis  abandoned the best part of her heart, as she fled from the man that communicatively described all that was wrong with America. 

Artemis knew that the Viking would always marry someone dull like Guzman before he would ever even consider marrying someone like her, and instead he opted for the safest option. His obsessive need to label every part of his life as rational had left him single for over forty years, and the arrival of both Artemis and Guzman had gave him perspective as to what he needed. He had moved in with the Siren only after years of awkward jokes aboot getting married as last options, and he had followed through without argument. Artemis was always his conduit for spare messages or in assistance finding his location, and she panned her life to include the rut of their friendship. She hated that he used her as an antic to make him seem more interesting, but she willingly tagged-out out of his love... only after seeing his infatuation with brown women made her seem absolutely unoriginal. “Do whatever” thought Artemis, as she walked out of his life and into the endless rain. The trickling of water felt heavy as hail, as her heart struggled to grapple with the idea of a life without a Viking. She was young and naive for feeling regret in leaving the solemn Viking in his empty nest. Artemis had reclaimed herself by telling him to return to his life before her, as his choices had made it apparent that he had never wanted her there in the first place. She cursed him with her words, and he grew animated with the anger that replaced her absence...booming his voice in his lovesick blindness. Once more Artemis had remembered the lessons of her Ancestors: these tenants were her enemy, and not her Indigenous Peoples.

Artemis cried her sorrow away for years after the facts.  Her two best friends came to her defense, as they lessened her pain with their strength and laughter. The three women were notorious for being men of action. Hippolyta and Yoyo would always leave and return by her side with awards and degrees aplenty, and Artemis would cry in joy, as she had no other words to display her gratitude. They would smile and wonder aloud why she kept everything inside until it imploded her life. The two women had taken it upon themselves to take her story and cry new tears, as they dissected her mistakes: ignoring their elders as they wove her story into a dark tapestry. The three were noble Warriors: frequently left to fight their own families to pursue their hearts desires, as the consequence of daring to dream bigger than their Reservations. The two women used their profession to help ease Artemis and her anxiety, ensuring that time would no longer repeat itself, as an apology for all she had endured as an orphan before their arrival. The things Artemis could barely write aboot...let alone explain. Artemis bragged of their accomplishments frequently, as the women were masters of their crafts and held their goals pointed towards awards and certificates declaring them each doctors. They had used her ugly existence as a platform for change, and they’d strive individually to be accepted as three of the one-point-two percent of Indigenous Warriors with a Ph.D. America.

They had each chosen careers defending the children born with little hope: bringing social work and love together in their work, as they handled cases like a boss. This was a statement of pride to Artemis in itself, as they had no way to undo all the trauma that had already occurred to Artemis and her spine. Their success was a statement that they had finally heard her screaming for help.  Her smile had been a crest to distract from her shrill screeching, as she suffered under the burden of survivors guilt that bore down upon the remains of her now curved spine. They had realized she hadn’t understood what they meant whenever she was asked if she were ok, as Artemis hadn’t the luxury of saying yes with honesty. She had never been ok, and it left her with nothing to measure in comparison to their compassion.  They stopped people from calling Artemis overbearing, and concentrated on her overbearing situation on her behalf. They were the best friends that any sane woman could ever ask for, and Artemis knew that she needn’t ever lie, or miss them without expecting the mutual respects in direct response. A true friendship built on truths and guilt that echoed across multiple dimensions. The three women focused on saving the children with little hope, ushering them to safety from the miasma that slowly krept over the land. Artemis stood watching the land cast a strange new shadow, as it stood exiled from peace talks and trade deals...armed to the teeth with the best weaponry and no qualified Warriors to utilize their overstock. America.

Artemis had a hobby of throwing men aside and laughing, as they always came back saying “whatsup” but with a tone that warranted lashing. Her past lovers had the audacity to let her slip away and assumed their place in her heart, as they undressed her with their eyes in retrospect to a person they had once known. Artemis had decided early on: that no ex-should return from following chapters. A lesson and ruling that she had made-up somewhere in her twenties and taught to her fellow Indigenous women. They didn’t have the luxury of repeating any of their mistakes or missteps. It were only Orion that had met this grey-area of paradigm ex, as they had never technically broken up. Orion had stayed in the peripherals of her hearts view on purpose, and Artemis appreciated his craftiness in avoiding the permanent detachment of her love. Orion had been her home, and her heart had housed the friendships that had made life worth living. Artemis would only tell her friends Yoyo, Hippolyta, Roro and Orion the first word of acceptance into a program studying the stars under a Blue Crest of Hope. Proud and nervous to be representing the Indigenous Peoples.

She always felt silly and guileless due to her wee stature and odd cartoon like voice, and so she would just shrug and smile. Artemis had a way of coming across as ungrateful or indifferent whenever she were petrified in her introverted thoughts. She would often respond to good news with tears of joy and a strange silence that eerily followed her. Death. Orion would always approve of her success, and she’d warm-up to his elated celebrations. Sweeping Artemis from her feet, and embracing her with a massive bear hug and kisses. “Right on”…she thought to herself in the heat of the moment, and watching as her arms dangled awkwardly at her side. Her inability to articulate her love had left him wandering blindly behind her...her lost love...her favorite Peoples.

Artemis knew her goals were a straight ahead, and she felt yearning in attaining her Ph. D each morning. Throbbing in her veins like a passion without outlet. Artemis was always bright-eyed and bushy...her blushing confidence owed to self-stoked fires. She had taken control of her own body and then her whole life at last, and it encouraged her to restore her bow and take aim once more: her hands no longer shaking with self-doubt. The crisp focus following a proper orgasm was how Artemis felt whenever Orion was near. She used the memories of their sexual past to boost her confidence. Holding herself as she remembered Orion tossing her around in a dance: Artemis was fixated on the memories of them together. She used her accomplishment in bedding him to improve her marksmanship and deliver her with an appreciation for humans. Artemis always awaited his return, as she retreated to UC Davis to teach some random teenagers how to build sky-boats and the advanced sciences. She stood on-deck and prepared for a commercial program to open to the general public. Artemis could prepare for a future mission in a zillion ways. No matter which way she went...she was still a Princess under the title of a common citizen: waiting to retrieve her throne. Representing an unnecessary proclamation of equality. Artemis were always and forever: campaigning to be the first Indigenous American female to successfully operate the false star that orbited around the Earth. She were in dormant hiding: safe until then, as she and her Indigenous Peoples fought the eugenics that shackled them to the land. Artemis would hide in the open, as every breath she took was in open retaliation to the Genocide that paved the way for modern day America.

Artemis were helpless, as she lay under the boot of the Boar once more. He blindly ate poisoned meat and touched himself thinking of his one and only daughter...his one and only wife. “Notha’ day…notha’ dolla” she thought, as she rapped freestyle beats in hear head, and dropped hypothetical microphones. Artemis had seen all these dead-eyed savages had to offer, and found herself bored and ready to throw away the whole planet as to start anew. Artemis had complained to her two best friends of the forty-five thousand in student loans that she still owed to the Boar, and found herself beaming as she expressed her inconvenience. Unable to besmirch the experience entirely, as she had somehow she managed to win an expensive-ass date with a Viking in the process. Artemis knew there may be a slight chance where a day would come: that the Viking could ask why she had wrote down their story and all of its ugliness. He’d probably only be mad that his laundry were on the line to be judged by randoms. Open for ridicule by his own America.

She’d probably have to say something along the lines of…”I had wrote it out just for Orion”... just to see his reaction. Knowing the Viking would dislike a majority of Orion. Everything from his modern haircut to his relaxed first name: she smiled to herself unworried in a way that reflected Orion’s surfer attitude. Artemis loved Orion in a way that was shameless and well-intended at all times. They had only found one another after Artemis sought a momentary dick-fix in the saddest of her heartbreak, and Orion was the complete package deal. The temporary-ness of their relationship had fluctuated over time until Artemis had finally realized her obvious feelings for the strapping Indigenous Warrior upon writing an entire book. America.

She couldn’t make the people care: no more than she could make them value their eyesight or sitting posture. Artemis grew the wiser, as to force her non-articulated broken or silent “English” opinion on these dead-eyed savages. Artemis had been raised to understand her importance to their lives also, as she existed on a wave-length that was omnipresent. They were above all those in the moving stills, and underneath all of their masks, everywhere and nowhere at once. Trapped in the non-zero as the Indigenous Peoples called it: forced to elevate fictional characters forever. The two lovers were cursed returning to the others side, a fit and handsome pair to say the least. Sleepy and hungry, intentionally avoiding meeting one another with topics of depth in hallways. It was a decoy to annoy the Boar, as he too was in their simulation. The man had gotten lost and found himself attempting to destroy democracy, and the world prevailed as he only managed to dent the standing Republic. Artemis was simply an oracle that had helped forewarn the world of its upcoming demise. Her role was minor and often overlooked. Artemis had accidently derailed a previous mission by taking weapon to her temple with a manic laughter. The outcome had been disastrous. Her love of being Homestuck had consumed Artemis one day, and it had led to the Gods of Olympus to craft a city of gold in order to “recreate” her life as a simulation. The Gods were now bound to one another: speaking only through song-waves and dances of their culture. Laziness and diabetes controlled the population as an epidemic, sweeping rapidly among the sugared Indigenous Warriors. America.

Next Chapter: *[ XXVI ] Artemis and the Battle of Troy*