Abandoned on Naxos, after giving the brute her body and her brother. Perhaps she saw it coming, knew the treachery and the brilliance of her lifesaving thread would bear lonely, bitter fruit. She vanishes from one story, then cameos pornographically in a later one, still on that rocky, martin-trilling island, made a white-hot dazzle in its foaming mer-bound sulk, Dionysius riding like a star upon the crushing waves. To comfort Ariadne, hoop her with joy, banish the sister-stealing brute from her mazey masochistic daydreams forward to his own gory tourist-trap. Her sunburned beauty restored in the unexpected courtship of the laughing god, who kissed and petted, praised and teased, secured the scorched release of her pent-up tears, got her drunk and time-tunneled her back to the semi-innocence which Theseus had abused that fateful afternoon, when he whispered his plan mid-thrust, and she, eyes moist and daze-hot, squirreled from beneath him, sank to her knees, begged him to behead her monstrous mother’s son, begged him to take her far away from her complicated dreadful family, begged him to come in her mouth, while he wound the red silk thread tightly round her throat.