Adonia

Adonia awoke listening to birdsong. The three sparrows she had charmed yesterday were perched at her window, chirping away, precisely as she had instructed them. Rising, she waved her hand, dismissing them, and they scattered away, rising back into the trees that surrounded her palatial estate.

My abilities grow by the hour, she mused. Convincing the birds to do her bidding yesterday had seemed like an incredible feat – now, however, it seemed childishly simple.

Adonia strutted to her mirror and examined herself. The refinements to her body were less dramatic these days, she had to admit, but they were still obvious to her well-trained eye. The last stubborn ounce of excess fat that had been clinging to her midsection was finally gone, leaving her with perfectly-toned abdominals. She noted that her navel appeared to have shrunken slightly. Perhaps it will eventually disappear completely, to hide the evidence that I was ever involved in such messy and worldly process as childbirth.

The difference between her current splendor and her appearance just six weeks previous was almost literally unbelievable. If she were not experiencing it herself, she probably would not have accepted it as truth. And yet, how else to explain how a short, fat, ugly hispanic girl with the awfully-inappropriate name Adonia now towered above the rest of humanity in every category, including literally?

The seven-foot-tall woman turned and dressed for the day: a single bangle around her wrist; a walnut-sized golden orb on a strap around her neck; two golden hoops in her ears. Nothing else needed to conceal her body from her adoring worshippers. These signs of her power were all she needed, nudity being its own sign.

A small priesthood was already forming, Adonia plucking the most beautiful of the women who arrived for personal service to her. They had been tasked with keeping her fed and watered, until she no longer felt the need to eat, and then with waking her, until she decided a more natural approach was available. Now they were there to manage the estate and the flocks of curiosity-seekers come to meet the youthful beauty.

No one ever whispered the word “Goddess” in her presence, of course. Adonia publicly refused to consider such blasphemy. But alone, she reveled in the idea. She could feel power bursting away within her, reshaping her to better control it. Her body was immensely strong – she had stopped being able to challenge herself after lifting a railroad car over her head – and her mental abilities were increasing at a phenomenal rate. She had recently rederived all of Representation theory in her head in an afternoon, and was idly working over the problem of the Poincaré conjecture, having skimmed the Perelman papers yesterday.

But this was all a side-show, Adonia was beginning to suspect. The power over the birds proved it. She was certain that if she were to summon Priestess Lacey, the woman’s thoughts would be visible to her, as easily as examining her own mind. Perhaps, she wondered, even… control. And her body! Lacey was a gorgeous woman, with her most prominent asset her full, proud bust. Adonia visualized it swelling yet larger, her adoring priestess becoming a bosomy miracle, her breasts as large as watermelons.

There was a crashing noise, and the door to Adonia’s chambers was flung open. Turning, Adonia was entirely unsurprised to see Lacey herself standing there, newly-inflated breasts spilling out of her grasp. “Mistress Adonia, I– I– I felt the need to come to your chambers, and this started! I do not understand!”

Adonia gazed upon her servant with lust. “Do not worry, Lacey, you have done exactly what I desired. Please, come forward and receive your reward…” the growing goddess said, eyes glinting with power.