Leaves weaved into her hair, grass looking piercing but feeling soft, laced around delicate fingers, a celestial body that belonged among the stars lay nude among the imperfect earth that was dented with ridges and the impurity of dirt. Her arms stretched out delicately, skin unsullied by mud or man. Her skin glowed in a soft tone of gold, radiant and shining amongst the dull tones of earth, her body bathed in the sunlight peeking out through the cloudy lands of the gods. Intricate strands of leather wreathed her high-arched feet,l  sandals of silver.

Callisto, goddess of chaos and moon of Jupiter, lay, innocent and untouched, open but apathetic, unwanting to the touch of man, but man came.

The sky opened, and the song of the wings pushed away the clouds to allow golden light to mist in the form of a staircase. Ascending down was a huntress; her bow, strung with reverent arrows, perched endlessly from the quiver resting between her delicate but strong shoulder blades. The pure white fabric perfectly fell over her body, modestly covering her skin while still exhibiting the feminine muscles of her thighs, a sliver of godly skin.

Artemis’ skin was the color of earth after spring rain, speckled with broken pieces quartz, and she ascended down onto the ground. Even though the earth clung to her like it craved the mineral of her angelic skin, her body remained pure, the invisible blood of crushed men on her petite hands.

“Huntress,” said she, raising her hand delicately to her as though raising a glass of pure wine in respect.

“Callisto,” said Artemis, her smile alluring, a spectacle in comparison to the constellations made by and of gods. “Do you not bow before me in greeting?”

Callisto laughed, charmed, hearing her voice as a tease rather than anything more. “Goddess, you request my respect, and I am to give it to you in the most modest form, but I dare not to sully my knees with the grain of this filth below us,” answered she, standing in front of Artemis with her body bare and pleasured.

“Do cover yourself, Callisto, it is immodest,” Artemis whispered, revealing a cloak of gold from her quiver, swathing Callisto’s feminine shoulders underneath the golden cloak.

“You never minded before,” rejoined Callisto, a certain degree of desire, her long lashes touching her cheeks with a flirtatious flutter.

Artemis’ smile flickered, a ravenous and masculine shimmer in her eyes before she settled down gently over a fallen tree, its roots spindly and reaching lovingly towards the ground. “Come to me, Callisto,” purred she, and Callisto obliged with a smile, crossing her legs, the back of her knee pressed against the front of her thigh. The golden cloak rose, showing the tiniest sliver of her skin, and her finger grazed over her warm skin.

“What do you wish to do with me, huntress?”

“What do you wish me to wish?”

“For your lips to touch mine as the dirt touches the earth.”

“And?”

“For your hands to caress my skin, softly, softly, like the clouds touch the sky.”

“And?”

“For your skin and mine to touch.”

“And?”

“This, my huntress,” whispered she, her lips sugary, softly pressing against Artemis’ own lips. They intertwined, gentle and plush, and their fingers grazed over one another’s ashen skin. They lay together, combining, soft and genuine, until Callisto’s body was scratched and dirtied by a metamorphosis of calloused, masculine hands. The gentle hands of femininity disappeared and changed into the hands of man, the soft lips grazing against Callisto’s transforming into rough, chapped lips clashing and fighting with Callisto’s lips instead of the original soft touch. The sensual goddess whimpered beneath the lips and hands of a stranger, and she jerked her lips away, her mouth reddened and raped.

In front of her, Zeus with eyes of lust and hands of greed lay beside her, his violent grip clutching at her arm so that his fingertips formed bruises on her skin. Callisto’s body paled underneath the hands, and she shriveled as she weakened underneath his grip.

“You haven’t needn’t to stop,” growled Zeus, Callisto’s bones crumbling like ashes underneath his hands.

“I do,” Callisto cried, tears of anger stinging her eyes like ravenous thorns, and her jaw clenched as she curled her hands into fists, struggling against him.

“You want me, maiden,” Zeus demanded, the sky darkening around him like his shadow extended upwards towards the clouds. “You want me; you kissed me before, felt my touch on your skin, my lips upon yours, and what has changed?”

“You fooled me!” Callisto screamed, the lightning ceremoniously clashing above him. “I yearned for Artemis, my huntress, not you.”

Manly breaths like laughter scraped against his throat as bruises swelled underneath his hands on Callisto’s skin. “You now have a new hunter.”

Pained breaths escaped her lungs as the bones beneath Zeus’ hands weakened, and her body slacked under his as he used her tormented body for his own greed and joy as Callisto yearned once against for Artemis’ touch. The real Artemis, the real huntress with bows of goodness and rich heart; while Artemis was a huntress, Zeus proved himself a predator, as Callisto was forced into the role of prey, ripped apart and torn open for his own pleasure.

And then he left her, abandoned and aching. Her soil-and-quartz-colored skin was smeared with blood and dotted with bruises like a hammer painted her skin, and she waited because what else was she to do?

The earth around her ached as she did, blood soaking into the soil, and she didn’t sob until Artemis returned to her, the true femininity of her strong embrace swathing her in intimate love and care. Callisto didn’t understand the realness of her lover until she had been without, until she had been in pain, until she had been betrayed by man.

“Callisto, Callisto,” Artemis whispered, in love, in sorrow, in the soft, simple voice that the huntress wore. Callisto had always considered Artemis’ voice to be that of an angel, unable to be replicated by any other, but the cruelty of man proved her wrong.

“My huntress, I am no longer pure,” lamented Callisto, her tears stained among her face with the freckles, dirt, and blood. “My huntress, I have gone against my vows to you and my own values; what am I without my own purity and trust? What am I to be?”

Artemis, who Callisto had only ever seen be strong and courageous, her arms like tree trunks and fingers like twine and a core of steel, had a wobble in her lip. “You determine your own purity, Callisto,” promised the huntress, “not man.”

Tears trembled on her eyelashes as she closed her eyes, turning her innocent cheek to Artemis, until the goddess traced her finger across her jawline. Their foreheads pressed together, Callisto tearful and Artemis strong, like their touch would make them form together and combine in vigor. They stayed like that like concrete in the middle of the meadow, waiting for their bodies to turn into stone, so they would remain in eternity touching. Artemis whispered promises of the stars, of the wars she would fight for Callisto, of the infinity of their love and time. The tears never dried from Callisto’s face, the blood never fading, and Artemis waited until her body came limp with sleep.

Slowly, Artemis slipped away from her, the tenderness slipping away as vengeful anger seethed through her, fire burning on her palms as she touched the arrows attached to her bow.

Beneath her, Callisto lay in blissful sleep, and Artemis left to her home of the forest to trespass into the clouds to fight the god of thunder.

Handprints of Zeus tattooed on her body, Callisto lay. Months later, she birthed a boy with a face of Zeus and the potential of a god, and it was then that the news spread that Zeus again fell to the throes of infidelity. The goddess of everything appeared one day in front of Callisto, stealing away the baby, and light bursting from her fingers. With the heavenly commands of Hera, Callisto transformed into a bear.

Callisto, now with her new, strong, but brutal form, meandered through the woods for years and years, unknowing that her lover Artemis searched for her heavenly, soil-and-quartz body in the woods with a quiver and flaming arrows, never knowing or watching her son grow up.

A tragedy because of man, mud underneath her paws, she died at the hands of her son when she ran to him. He, at seventeen years old, roamed the forest, and Callisto with her gigantic paws and savage claws raced to him in joy; Arcas, a son of Zeus and a now-bear, only saw an angry bear racing towards him, and he grabbed her throat as she hugged his body, crushing him under her weight, killing her with his bare hands, godly strength and adrenaline in his veins.

Callisto, never having seen her son grow, died at the hands of Arcas, her burly body dead on the forest floor. With a light from the clouds, Zeus ascended again, only appearing when the damage was done, and his hands cupped her soul and pushed her up to the sky.

Her soul formed the sketch of a bear in the sky, the name of Ursa Major, her soul dotted in stars on the dark span of the sky.

And every day, Artemis stared up at the sky, gravitated towards the stars, and longed.