𝐀𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐦 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐄𝐬𝐭

gold is power.

[The vague theme will be specified before each chapter; either 'angsty' or 'lighthearted'. In this case, it leans towards 'angsty,' though keep in mind that is not specific in the least.]

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I just added a few protection codes— one that deploys a virus to the other computer— so that no one I know personally can view this. It's necessary, because the last thing I want is for them to, quite literally, read what's in my head.

You, reader, are a very different case. I don't know you personally, and even if you tried, you can't find any evidence of my existence. Actually contacting me is something you can only dream of. Perhaps I might respond to some comments, if there are any, though that will depend on whether I feel like it's worth it.

But keep this clear: I don't need your compliments about my twisted self, thank you very much.

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One of the main reasons I became what I was—emphasis on was— were my parents. My Father, specifically, and his mottos.

Artemis Fowl Senior used to be one of the world-wide known criminals, but there was never actual evidence— and when there was, with the amount of power he had, it was easy to slip away. He'd tried to go straight a lot of times, but he just wasn't made for it.

I remember, when I was four years old, for this behavioural study activity I found online, I kept a small diagram in my room, and every time Father would make a promise, I would keep a prediction on how long it would last. The longest was 8 days. 

Hilarious, in a pathetic way.

If there was another chart of the amount of times he lied in a day, I can confidently say it would be over twenty.

The point being, Father wasn't a good role model. I somewhat knew that as a child, but unsurprisingly, in a twisted way: I knew that I could do better than what he told me. I'd tell myself, I wouldn't ever need to use my power to escape because I'd never be caught. I wouldn't need to prepare for every interrogation, or bug the lie-detector, or hire anyone to help me come off clean. Because I would train myself to be such a good liar, so good at faking alibis, that even the most advanced behaviourists would barely notice a thing off.

My Father might have gotten a lot of gold, but I promised myself that I would be so good at what I did, the word power would be synonymous with my name.

And I must say, I was awfully close.

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Crime wasn't the only thing Father taught me. Daily, he used to call me, and for hours he'd talk about the news, business, innovation, and what I still consider was a good teaching until he came to a conclusion: always, he subconsciously ended it while backing up the family motto, something I will never be free of. 

Because, for about as long I can remember, I read into it more than intended, and that motto, Aurum Potestas Est, came to become a part of my core.

That is an understatement, actually. Even now, when I know better, the phrase lingers in me, refusing to leave. Because it's true. While life shouldn't revolve around it, perhaps, it is true: gold is power. It is the one reliable thing you can have. If you have enough of it, you are guaranteed a proper life. If you don't, you're balancing on the tip of an iceberg.

Possibly, though, this motto scares me far more than any four my Atlantis Complex could have shown me. The only difference is that this isn't a disorder; instead, it's something I can control, which is how I prefer it.

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The below context is taken from page 31 of "The Diary Of Artemis Fowl II— Volume I." 

ąųཞųɱ ℘ơɬɛʂɬąʂ ɛʂɬ.

               𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬

               /𝐚𝐫-𝐭𝐞-𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐬/

     𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧

               𝟏. 𝐀 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐨𝐫/𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥.

               𝟐. 𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫.

• ɬơ ɬɧıŋƙ ơʄ ơɬɧɛཞ ℘ơʂʂıცƖɛ ɖɛʄıŋıɬıơŋʂ— ąʄɬɛཞ ʂɬɛąƖıŋɠ ʝơŋ ʂ℘ıཞơ'ʂ Ɩąɬɛʂɬ ıɖɛą.

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In case you were wondering from the last line, yes, I have stolen Jon Spiro's ideas several times before we met face-to-face, and I do have terrible handwriting.

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