I want to make Artemis cry.

Sometimes, when I play with them, their eyes go wide and their face goes slack and their breath catches, and I find myself watching for tears. I listen for that hitch in their throat to become sobbing, and I hunger.

There is an edge there, and I balance on it. I want to hurt them more, bite them harder, push them further. I want them to endure more for me. I want to feel them break under my hands. I want to push them over the edge and be there to catch them as they fall. I want to take their control of themself away from them.

I am afraid to make Artemis cry.

When their face goes slack and their eyes go wide, when their breath catches in their throat, I back away. I see the edge coming and dare not go to it. I am afraid of breaking them – what if I can’t put them back together? What if they never forgive me? What if I am wrong, and they cannot endure more?

I balance there, caught on myself.

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