Prove Your Devotion (Patreon)

It’s become a routine now, inviting potential subjects over to my home. Since I’ve grown—stronger, taller, and more powerful than anyone imagined—it’s like people can’t help but be drawn to me. The moment they step inside, I can see it in their faces: the awe, the disbelief, the overwhelming need to impress me. And honestly? I love it. I love watching their reactions, their nervous energy, the way their voices catch in their throats when they try to speak to me.

They’re all the same, really. Some try to act confident at first, but that doesn’t last long. One look at me, at the way my muscles ripple with every small movement, at the sheer size of my presence, and they falter. My shoulders alone are broader than most of their bodies, my arms thick and powerful, capable of lifting them like they’re nothing. My legs? Massive pillars of strength, each step shaking the ground beneath me. They know instantly who’s in charge, and it’s not them.

I’ll smile, soft at first, as they try to stammer out compliments or explain why they’re worthy of being in my presence. Some of them offer gifts—flowers, expensive trinkets, even handwritten letters, as if that’s enough to impress me. I let them try, watching their faces closely, enjoying the desperation that creeps in when they realize how high the bar truly is.

“What are you willing to do?” I’ll ask, my voice calm but laced with authority. They blink, confused for a moment, and I smirk. “To be one of my subjects. To stay close to me, to worship me, to serve me. What are you willing to give?”

Some of them hesitate, unsure of how to answer, and I step closer, my size towering over them, my shadow swallowing theirs. “This isn’t just about admiration,” I continue, my tone dropping slightly, becoming more commanding. “It’s about devotion. Loyalty. Obedience. I don’t need someone who’s just in awe of me—I need someone who understands their place. Someone who’s willing to prove they belong here.”

I’ll flex slightly, just enough for the muscle in my arms to swell, my strength radiating off me in waves. Their eyes widen every time, their awe turning into something deeper, something almost reverent. “If you want to be one of my subjects,” I say, tilting my head, “you’ll need to earn it. Worship isn’t just a word—it’s an action. It’s a lifestyle. It’s knowing that every moment of your day is spent in service to me.”

I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “So, tell me. What are you willing to do? How far are you willing to go to stay in the orbit of someone like me? Because I don’t accept half-measures. You’ll give me everything—or you’ll be replaced.”

The tension in the room is thick as I step back, giving them a chance to speak. Most of them stutter, trying to find the right words, to show me they’re worthy. A few manage to impress me, their determination shining through, and I allow them to stay—on probation, of course. But the ones who hesitate, who falter? They’re dismissed without a second thought.

“Being in my presence isn’t a privilege I give lightly,” I remind them as they leave. “Prove yourself, or don’t bother coming back.”

And as they walk out, I smile to myself. There will always be more. More people desperate to kneel at my feet, to prove their devotion, to give me everything they have. And for the few who manage to earn their place? They’ll know it was worth every moment of effort to serve the goddess I’ve become.