From the Journals of Iphigenia

　　So gentle is she, Artemis the holy,

　　She will not have her sacred altar

　　Stained with innocent blood.

　　She healed me, born me awayThis story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

　　To this cursed barbaric land.

　　A fierce people here lives.

　　Their savage custom to spill

　　The blood of any Greek they seize.

　　In greatest irony, Artemis had me

　　Be the high priestess of her sacred grove.

　　I have served and I have served,

　　Countless doomed bodies I cleansed:

　　Old, young, strong, frail, good, evil,

　　All went to Hades` dark embrace.

　　My own countrymen, my brothers and sisters,

　　To be put to death by my cursed divine hand.

　　The guilt is unbearable,

　　I wish for deliverance.

　　I pray toward Apollo,

　　And Truth he speaks:

　　There is but one thread

　　For me in this world:

　　Not father the betrayer

　　But little brother dear.