Artemis was left in a state of helplessness--embracing a precious niece weeping bloody tears as she sat upon a small stepping stool; a her royal bun askew. She had awoken to upon the sounds of a niece resting and crying in her sleep--slumped over a slouching position and processing her past alone. Artemis hated waking her and she was too big to carry back to bed--an injured spine kept them miles apart in such and unchangeable sad moments. Mama Bear was lost in a trance--woe had flooded over every thought. “Mama, we have to go now...it’s not safe here’.’ She’d mumble the strange catchphrase to her hurriedly, within a desperate context that suggested Artemis needed to trigger events...to move mountains in order to wake a woman frozen in an endless nightmare. Their stone cave was all they’d known; financial disparity, nowhere to go, nowhere else to be. The flame of Athena’s love had long left their torches, sweeping every speck of warmth with the smallest speck of winds. Artemis had nothing to offer--outside of company and wool coat; she wrapped its dark threads over the shoulders of a precious niece--knowing life had been so unfair to her in such undeniably anguished moments.

The blind girl--was now apologizing for dragging her aunt to her death between her tears: Artemis shivering as she leaned along a sick baby. A story of Sabrina had ushered in an era of death--panning out into a long story--fulfilling a fate of aiding the death of an aunt, as had once been mentioned by the Oracles of Delphi. Artemis was finally tired of living her life afraid of those all around her--running away with a bare bum to the wind to preserve comfort with passive aggressiveness. Artemis had known the consequences of her beauty; two older sisters had always condemned her for it--in their own ways. Artemis hid away from the gleaming stares of one sister; only to scream and yell at Athena--asking what she had done to deserve the shameless curse of a burdensome cripple...why wouldn’t she look at her? Had the countless punches cast as children meant nothing...when realizing Artemis never fought back? The insult of pity forced Athena to look away in her wicked elite deviousness--there was no need to apologize for the things that had already come to pass. The lesson of "if it were really that bad--then why didn’t anyone stop me?", had been the gift Dianne had always wanted. Artemis finally rose up--to place a toy bow to Athena’s temple and shot the woman she had once called her hero.

Artemis felt Mama Bear ease her breathing at last--the silence lay in the details of calmness given as a narcissistic parent laid slain upon the marble floor. There was so much more to life--than finding new ways to mistreat the same old people...why had Artemis never been enough for anyone to care about, to protect? “I am kind, I am smart, I am important…” Artemis’s hand shock violently: courage had liquidated into concern--she remained too afraid to move. The fun Athena had cherished had come at such an immense cost to everyone around her--no one was safe on her single-parented quest to find romantic love. Her sister would always reincarnate as herself...if it meant keeping Mama Bear and Artemis apart--their idea of fun had been nothing shy of living average lives. The spite of three sisters had begun a dark game in a concealed room: a competition that pinned the fates against one another, and repeated the story of the creation of their universe--all threads leading back to Dianne. A simulation had been buried deep within a simulation; hidden away within the memories of a protege, a cursed child of Athena: a beauty that filled the world with laughter...Artemis’s laughter. Mama Bear had been a key to recreating mankind, the breath of life that had been mentioned throughout time--to bear fortune in grains and seeds; to harbor through famine...the lore stopping shy of admitting the abundance had come at the expenses she had withheld from herself. A poor girl born to a woman that had only existed to spite all of those she hated; left grieving when Athena had spun a last night of memories with a stranger...clinging to her vase filled with fun, its contents forever empty; Artemis screaming out for help...words no longer forming into legible sounds in such grief-stricken moments.

Athena would awaken on this timeline, over and over again--eyes darting as she gauged the "worry" of her daughters smiles, for she felt Mama Bear’s compassion towards Artemis was unwarranted and undeserved. Artemis was not allowed to call herself a person--her stories had been devalued at every turn; a mother impugned by each and every narrative slipping away from polished talons. Artemis’s every breath...was considered an insult to the air that Athena blessed the world with. Artemis knelt in hiding as she waited for Mama Bear to fill Athena’s vase of tears--asking the universe to grant a child the curses where Athena only beat her in their slumber, as to protect the fragile mind of the adolescent beauty. Mama Bear had so many horrific memories of a woman beating men, causing chaos and tossing everyone else’s emotions aside in times of inconvenience...but just like Artemis, there stood an army of people longing to love a woman that felt so deeply punished by life, pathetic in their desires to prove Athena had been their hero.

Athena began to stir in her excitement of her violent delights--a simulation rebooted by a man named Ford, and Artemis had been forced to kneel at last...to tell Orion how the story ended. A state of boredom washed over generations of hand-carved chaos, Genocide, and then there was Artemis-- warding off the curses of hunching spine..her sicks clicking-and-clacking on the floors of a marble cave: recalling her Traditional name in battles of endless seizures with dignity--accepting death was imminent but knowing the moments of dying and what came after...caused the most fear. Who would care for Athena’s children? Artemis fought harder. Life would have to skew its paths to detonate that level of trauma on those that had loved Artemis for being an unmovable force. Even in life; Artemis had proved to Athena that she had only knelt to be crowned--she had taught herself to walk, to run, and find deliverance in fun found in good company. Artemis always got her way, one way or another--the romantic oddity in loving others more than she cared for herself had moved mountains. A drunken past as a liar had been a decoy...an emotionally crippling disability that came from hiding from the truth. The act itself was useful at time, but the impact it imposed upon all those she respected or loved had been a detail she overlooked: until the circumstances were painted in a montage of uncomplimentary colors that she hated...the threats of conflicting details and stones slipping away beneath tired feet no longer deemed valuable when a handful of nieces and nephews looked up to Artemis as though she were some sort of underdog hero.

Artemis painted a portrait of her niece in a blind rage--she held the canvas above her head as she knelt at her feet: offering the oils as a parting tribute to Athena. The Odyssey of traveling through time had meant Artemis had spent eternity painting a portrait of the same person...in the hopes of forcing Athena to stare at the child she had lost to suicide on a separate timeline. She didn’t need Athena’s approval to exist...she needed for Athena to acknowledge the suffering knowingly and willingly gifted to others, when her loneliness consumed her...when strange men and their twisted lusts superseded the worth of a family. Artemis only needed her Mama Bear--to remember how to roar her own name...to find wholeness outside of Athena’s moods and un-redeeming moments.

She didn’t need fancy or loud colors to paint a portrait, and hid her accomplishments in the void that Athena avoided--words of permanence were the only battle fields where her face couldn’t outshine everyone else’s efforts. Athena had once been on the fast track of becoming an Olympian--she had been blessed by the Gods at birth, and Artemis had been her only cheerleader at times...but, only Artemis carried the burden of her failures. Both were related to one another as half-sisters, bound by a decade of trauma, and the fact that Artemis cared too much about the wrong people at times. Athena had only self-identified as a surrogate to the greatness of her children, a fact that she very rarely hid--the weapons of children being deployed on every conquest for love at some point or another; mostly aimed in Artemis’s direction whenever questions arose as to why healthy children hadn’t been enough for her to spend a single weekend alone--without the charade of misery slipping way in bored moments.

Her sister said nothing as always: looking directly past Artemis, but yelling at the portrait of Mama Bear--how dare a childless woman question her parenting...how dare a single woman, unworthy of male all company...take sides with a child on foreign topics; when they had both been robbed of childhood. Athena began barking that the smiling child “grow up” and get into the skewed reality that she lived within--displaced anger would always be projected on those that longed to be held, to be admired, to be seen by a woman that barely liked herself. Artemis had placed earmuffs upon her kid, and allowed Athena to dispose of her erratic madness with witnesses, and without the access to harm Mama Bear. Artemis was deemed to be “the worst”--unbearable and easy to discard to many, but Mama Bear had been the only one to argue her curses. Their bond had transcended universes because of it, and it had created a loop in which Athena would hunt Artemis, with the strict intentions of harming her own children--eventually falling short on a week where the world proved that nobody needed anything from her. Artemis began to ease the woman into the notion of her death--unwilling to walk Athena to the door of Hades herself...busy speaking kind words of hope and admiration to her nieces and nephews and proving kindness would always be triumphant over the vitriol hatred that consumed her past hero.

Artemis hand bled from stitching a tapestry too ugly to reproduce; unworthy of mass production when the costs no longer justified the demands. The reader was left with only tales too ugly to digest, too beautiful to ignore...observing Artemis weeping and using her own blood to dye the fabrics--crafting an odyssey that humanized those that she had wrongfully idolized, and contemplating what it meant to survive one battle after another. The coldness of her cave would eventually seep into bones; dismantling a broad smile, and replacing all hope in mankind with glares and skepticism--this was what the reader had wanted all along? To see a naked woman holding down a story, filled with countless deaths...to mourn those the world had forgotten or left behind in...all because she had wanted live peacefully off land that had been colonized--trapped in a moment of sorrow while the world claimed a list of sex-trafficked victims and their prominent offenders was too-perverse, too-taboo to mention in ink. Time stood spinning out of control; unable to move past the implications of such tragic moments.

She had accidentally created a masterpiece: A frail and lopsided portrait meant to eradicate sins. The world began to depreciate idols dipped in cheap gold--Artemis had awoken to a world that longed to need her brand of authenticity in one form or another...nobody cared to pluck away at reasons as to why she had attempted suicide. Artemis was nothing more than a woman--that forgot people needed her to exist, an auntie that had somehow lost her way home on a random day. She avoided heartbreak at lengthy costs; knowing it would be easier to make a grand exit...without a careless man taking advantage of a body that had already been ravaged without consent. Men had never offered her gifts of flowers, let alone designated time--they took and took, wishing to be a notch on the bedside of a person painted to be beautiful, her soul diminished to a single shallow image--redefined by a talent in wearing dresses with confidence; efforts in vanity diminished to a title of self-absorption in such moments.

The side-effects of men and their half-hearted versions of love--had resulted in moodiness and a dimmed smile, and an odd unhinged laughter that occasionally frightened Artemis. She had been used-up to the brink of death, raped and tortured for an entire lifetime, called ungrateful for not offering a warm bed to every male that claimed themselves deserving of her broadening smile. There was only disappointment to be offered to the men believing their affections could change the course of time--they would flee, to coddle ego; or take disbelief to the image of Artemis sprinting in the dark; running for her teenage life...not needing to fall into a mans arms, but in the shy belief that the world had to be worth so much more than the scary shadows along the memories of stolen childhood. How could a man find her worth anything, when she hadn’t needed anything from the world...when Artemis wielded a sliver of hope and ran into the unknown in fear-drenched moments? She spun around, and around--time whizzing by, and no suitable husband in sight...only an onslaught of men taking a knee; pretending to care at odd moments--altering their tones to be soft or reassuring...loving the chase, until the moment Artemis stood still; glancing over a shoulder and asking men to take their golden eggs and unspoken desires home...pulling ribbons away in disgust at how many married or partnered men had thrown their hats in a ring. The suitable ones seemed afraid of the implications that came with caring for a broken woman. There was no shame in men...assuming she had been shameless like the prostitute mother that had given birth upon the raging Multinomah River. Artemis had written a spooky novel to read aloud to her Mama Bear: if only to remind her that it’s ok to say “I’m my own inspiration, I’m my own Hero”.

Artemis would never need to return to the past--in the same fashion she would never return to failed relationship. The tarnishing of a golden heart kept a vain mind plucking away at imperfections--it had been easier to take the L, and self-improve for the next suitor. Artemis glared at her golden apple and nodded with a grin expressing comfort in malicious deviance, and thought in self-congratulatory fashions: “I am the future”. She’d only need the one copy to give as a subtle gift to her niece, and the one promised to the fool that had pre-paid for his copy of blood drenched fables. That poor random had stumbled upon Artemis--haphazardly casting fables and wadding through the endless trials of a fallen hero. Mama Bear had been brought back alive with a matching olive colour, and found her aunt trapped within an Ancestor simulation. She had been too late: her aunt lay in shock on the floor in seizure, as she had pierced her own chords with steel. The child knelt near a glass of water and a few menial medications laying on the floor...Dianne had left Artemis to the waves of death washing over her body--her mind set aflame, wondering why the pleas for help had been tended to with such revulsion. Artemis had been a threat to beautiful date between a sibling and long-term boyfriend...the ugly parts of a family, painted uglier with the actions of negligence and single door closing behind Dianne exiting stage right. Life had been so awful for Artemis, crawling through life...but being held to the standards of a modern hero. Mama Bear began apologizing frantically--her hands shaking and clamoring to reach for an invisible life vest as Artemis drowned before her eyes; recalling moments where a sibling had brought heaps of discomfort back into a memory pleading to forget it all. Artemis was indifferent; knowing deep down that the secret battles of depression could never be disclosed to a sibling--forever reaching to pull a curtain downwards. The backfiring of a plan to mine resources in the past had gone astray--they were trapped proving the methods in which words offered solutions to Dianne; observing through a double-slitted experiment as to the reactions panning out when there were witnesses to pains of others...when a solid line of reaction was crossed into theatrics in such defining moments.

A life drenched in trauma--the origins of three muses; had left an entire crew of time-traveling miners stranded on a desolate planet. They had been unaware that the world had began to unravel at the hand of Athena--Artemis leaping off a metal plank to reach out for a niece attempting to grabs the lifeless hand of a mother, a woman too broken down by life to care about the children she had brought into the world without permission. There had never been a moment of disobedience in Artemis; outside of her past of violence in the early twenties...she couldn’t find a more fitting way to repent; than to throw herself of the ledge of sky boat--tossing useless meetings and jotted minutes aside...sprinting across a populated deck and diving head-first into a black hole; if it meant the end of it all came with a book marking that kept a niece alive one more day...surviving one more night--unable to claim the world had abandoned her in such helpless finalizing moments.

Artemis had hidden the key to immortality in the words of the colonizers, and found that their own deaths had been accelerated by their obsession with the single evil word and an action that defined its most prominent feature: a time of pedophiles. A conception and illusion that left Mama Bear cursed to play her Sonata and dance endlessly in her frills and war paint--Artemis sitting patiently, and waiting for her to grow into questions meant for an adult to ask when realizing their mentors and teachers were people--chained to the mortal sins of others. Mama Bear had painted Artemis’s name upon caves in the past using sound, explaining that their original ancestors had the ability to manipulate time with the regulation of their heart beating, and the misconstrued sound waves that created deceiving cloaks for time to hide beneath--a ripple of disorganization being born in pings; to offer an onslaught of activity to echo such horrific moments.

The concave of chaos trailed through their thoughts--a tent pitched up by stuffed cushions, had brought out the worst qualities in their friends--the toppling of public heroes had come swift and fast, leaving them both with nothing but their loneliness: a torture that was exacerbated by carelessness cast by others when the game of make believe was over. Life had been so unkind for two girlies; clinging on to the night...knowing the morning brought a harsh truth over the horizon. Athena had given up on them--to prove a point, I suppose. The love of unworthy men had brought Athens down in flames--a niece and auntie left to fold away a vast morgue sheet; unable to escape their accumulated failures in such profound and mundane moments. Artemis reached around for one last hug--a slab of cold material kept her from embracing a corpse. The world had beat the woman into oblivion, and Artemis had been dumb enough--to believe they could ever see eye to eye, as equals or that time would allow for Athena to see the days where middle ground was built. “You cast me away as a person because I have no children, you made fu of me for being without a partner and even put your children in harm’s way--instead of letting me love and protect them. You told me your thoughts with your fists, and I foolishly called you my hero.”

Artemis would spend her life sitting in a throne atop of wheels, if it meant potential future children had a chance at being healthy by methods of CRISPR. “I’m glad I’m nothing like you--since men flee from your bed with regret, and your children fear your every word and breath.” Artemis began weeping as she stabbed her sister continuously with bladed words. “I am kind...I am smart...I am important Athena, and I’m sorry if my love makes you look like an awful person, but YOU have done nothing with your life that may prove otherwise.” Artemis wept, and wept...the last words cast before Athena’s eyes; would be all she knew about a younger sibling trying to break free from abusive patterns--to seek the very things Athena had claimed were out of reach to someone as unlovable as Artemis. There was nothing redeeming in knowing the inevitable outcomes waiting--when a niece stumbled upon letter after letter; where Artemis had asked about four children, and Athena had castrated personality--immeshed in the freedoms of a woman that had no desire to feed to beast of an unchecked personality disorder. There was nothing but jagged lines and splattered blood; keeping the bare image of a family painted in a gold frame...the markings of true discomfort shone past modernized art--there was nothing of value in the misery captured in such moments.

Artemis threw down her bloody knitting spike at the statue of athena with confidence. Instantly losing her footing and collapsing to the cold marble floor once more--a dark liquid had broken up a dramatic scene; a thud and a giggle had brought an Indigenous Warrior crawling upon her elbows and through the pool of blood that dripped endlessly from a cursed statue of a woman that never existed. Artemis smiled as she struggled to heave dead-weight weight across the marble floor: daring the cowardly woman to strike her own child again whilst Artemis was armed and ready to defend them both. There was nothing to be said; life had halted when Athena had gave up...to wander off into the night with another stranger, seeking comfort in the arms of an abusive lover...sprinting towards a temporary solution to the traumas she had avoided remembering. Life seemed so uncomplicated...so undeniably predicable in such fragile moments.

Artemis had left Athena with enough ink to draw debate in own tapestry, but knew the woman would rather say nothing as opposed to take accountability for her actions--it had been easier to cast herself from a cliff, than to accept the problems churned by the hand of an unwell woman. The confidence of Artemis had forced athena into a state of angered animation in the past--she began mumbling to herself “what do you know? You don’t even have kids”. Artemis had won her race with Athena with one question. "Why?" What had been the causality expected to fall from her actions? Why did it matter...what a half-sister did with her life and body so much? Why was it anyone’s business? Why couldn’t the world see that Artemis loved being an auntie to four children--given losers for parents? Why hadn’t Artemis been worth the time...to stick around for one more night, or more than one night--whether these words were cast at Athena or the army of undeserving suitors; none of it mattered anymore in grief-filled moments.

Artemis had dove into a black hole of emotions; seeking only to salvage the echo of a niece and nephew...one weeping openly, and the other sitting in his pensive strength. “Are you ok? Where are you”, she clashed around in the dark; rummaging at the feet of two children locked in each others stares--sitting across one another at a table. Athena’s children began inching towards her voice; eyes racing back and forth--titles of adulthood shed away from the marble image of Athena; ruling over their lives with fear and abusive parenting. The children would always need their family in a way that reflected how little athena needed them--a niece had awoken to the shrill realization that Athena disliked Artemis most days; wondering why she’d cast rude tones and then claim to miss a baby sister. Her children would grow up to sense how little the world cared about Artemis in such defining and unchangeable moments.

Athena had ran a river of decency dry; Artemis feeling the tides recede...couching up blood and then suffering from hypoxia--a spine injured while swimming ashore...needing to find two small bodies in the chopping waves. The glitch of evaporating tides had salvaged what was left of Artemis--her blind hope in the goodness of people had been a life raft. She had foolishly thought Athena could be saved from their shared childhood, and came to the bargaining portion of grief--accepting that two nieces and nephews deserved what little was left of Artemis. They had only known life to be filled with apologies--condemned by a crass mother as accessories and burdens that cramped her whorish ways. At the end of it all--Athena had left them to suffer in new ways--fleeing an obvious affliction to accountability; diving head-first away from the law in pending rule and sentence, as shell of an Olympian that strangers had once flocked to observe. The race of mortality had ran its final lap for a woman that had been called a local hero.

Artemis taught the beautiful young woman how to save herself, and wept for understanding that the child still thought this had somehow been all her fault. Jerman didn’t know what to think of any of it--all he knew, was an otherwise indestructible auntie lay in a heap; broken down by the fact that Athens had fallen, and holding the inner strength to pull an orchestra lead by Worakis--moving a boulder bit-by-bit...as if to say "Auntie, Rome is Burning". The world kept moving, spinning on the echos of chaos cast by Athena--a woman who had refused to take throne and crown in historically unprecedented moments.

Artemis had accidentally let Mama Bear believe she was alone in her struggle, moving a boulder each morning without mentioning it as a feat--only to have a brave nephew walk up on a spare day; saying nothing...moving along Artemis’s boulder, so that an auntie and sister could weep and collect themselves with dignity. The feat of moving such a boulder hadn’t been lost on Artemis--her nephew had been a redeeming light in the darkness of it all. He remained pensive--geared and ready for the task of carrying a grieving family through a cave of hopelessness. The weight of Athena’s boulder hadn’t vanished into thin air with death--it was the only inheritance left behind for three children to divide amongst themselves. The feat of remaining in motion--pressing past it all; moving along a timeline of tragedy; could only be grappled with by a person holding a lust for death...a nephew’s stature broad-shouldered like Athena--bore such a similarity in shadow; Artemis had mistaken him for a sister...weeping harder, holding pity for a child making it up as he went...each step pressing a boulder up and away from the only people he had known to be consistent in their caring--she took pride in seeing a nephew rise to the occasion; needing stories of Athena to move alongside his grief in youthful moments.

Artemis awoke; tears falling...her babies needed her--she ripped away from ill-rested sleep, trapped in a nightmare where Hera had claimed a cousin Jessica had passed; demanding reasons for a book being tossed into the public eye--clawing for hints or personal recital. Artemis returned to an otherwise pathetic existence; working two occupations at once...worn down by manual labor, and high-risk occupation. Walking between a polished Port, or standing on the Lloyd district streets...debating reasons with transient citizens, as to why stabbing her wasn’t going to solve their current situation of homelessness--a Mechanical Boar had held Federal funding hostage; causing cuts in public transportation...forcing Port services to work without pay: he had painted her metropolis as "war-torn"; unwilling to placate the statistics of privileged pale citizens--smoking poison in the hopes of greeting death...a wave of darkness washing over the world. Artemis had taught her nieces and nephews traits of ruthlessness...choosing gig-work over the option of holding public service for a deranged loser--often providing example by example, "don’t be doing shit for free, please." An era of domestic terrorism had exemplified the hatred for diversity in elders and uneducated cohorts of citizens...their choice in vindictive discrimination precise in amplifying moments.

Artemis cut the ribbon that tethered Athena to her children, and painted it forest green--grief-stricken and beautiful. Artemis took hold of the ribbon and wore it around her neck to hide the stitches and marking left by a leather belt--a parting necklace for a time a step into the abyss and chair posed a solution to sorrow. It was an accessory--meant to cover her sliced throat and inspire Scary Stories that Mama Bear anticipated. Artemis smiled gently at her niece that loved all-things-spooky...giggling as she taught the child spite...until it was second-nature to roar her own name--to find peace in words of an older brother. Athena had set out to execute her own offspring with negligence, and Artemis had stepped in...time and time again; agreeing to disagree on war tactics being used as lazy parenting tools, and playing the victim when her children were unable to look upon a wounded ego--to kiss the feet of a woman that had never earned the role of hero.

Her laughter made things worse--when the added detail of a nephew sitting upon a hand-laced gown meant one of Athena’s children had never doubted his place as star a world of darkness. Artemis had never made it a doubt in Damian’s mind--that he was loved, and worthy of love...not just by biological ties, but for his curious nature; his childhood cut short with the exposures of explicit environments and Athena’s many, many fights with men. His sensitivity had been tuned--to be received by the world, in settings where people saw his head held high above the tides of an abrasive parent; a rotation of men bossing him around, and Artemis reminding him that Athena often loved men that hated women, or held sick proclivity for children (whenever he was old enough to understand what that meant). He was nothing like Athena; outside of a natural ability to fail upwards--the capable child had only needed gentle guiding to move from characteristics of self-aggrandizing to standing firm on land, able to move with passion--to discern right from wrong in trying moments.

Artemis spoke only the truth now: yelling a statue of Athena lording over a crumbling empire...“we’re not kids anymore Athena, what have I done to deserve your ugly wrath-filled hatred? I came to your aid at every turn, when YOUR ambitions to get lost on narcotics triumphed parenthood...I came to your aid, when the first baby-daddy began hitting you…I did everything within my control to help: I was only a teenager--he attempted to coerce and attack me, and you did nothing.” Nothing could stop Artemis from letting go of her painful truths now. Life had always kicked Artemis in moments of vulnerability, but there was no doubt...Athena had offered the most harmful blows...she could care less, no one cared that Artemis had sprinted out a front door--running to seek help; guilt-ridden by the idea of leaving two toddlers in the grips of two beastly adults...refusing to look back if it meant someone admitted that life had been unfair, awful even, and alas; there was only Artemis...unable to admire the beauty offered in her own reflection, unwilling to call herself an sort of hero.

She closed her eyes and said finally: “You put me in danger and beat me up when their father attempted to assault me as a teenager...he was forty and you dared asked me what I had done to ask for such unwelcome advances. You have drunkenly called me a homewrecker with your fists over and over again. I never wanted any of this.” Artemis now laid on the floor: she had never been okay following that day...life had only gotten worse in new ways since then; she had been reduced to the single label victim; pissing off a sibling that refused a pedestal of complicit marbling--the blending of introduction and outcome had nothing to do with Athena’s image of herself.Artemis had now painted her sister with the violent reds and grey fit to reflect her sins: Medea. It was illegal to look down upon a lording personality; it wasn’t considered rational to expect a woman to take any form of accountability for the strangers injected into her home...Athena had done nothing in life to correct these flaws, and now; Artemis had been left to deduct the results given at the hand of an elder sibling...gifted with only memories of terror and confusion; with endless nightmares that forced a victim to relive such humiliating moments.

Next Chapter: [ XXXV ] Artemis and the Golden Fleece