When Theanax the Mother, the queen of the gods, the Bull-Queen, summoned her sister, Dolea the Trickster, to Ouranos, sanctuary of the highest gods, she met her with a look of perplexed amusement on her face.

“My sister, my queen,” Dolea said as she knelt. “To what do I owe this summons?”

Theanax was resplendent in her authority as she watched the trickster goddess kneel. She sat on her throne wearing golden robes, a bull-horns crown proud atop her head. She had never thought to see the day. After their victory over the First, she and Dolea and their other sister had contested to divide the old gods’ domains amongst themselves.

To Theanax had gone the highest throne. She ruled the heavens as Queen of the Gods. Their third sister had gone to rule the underworld, and Dolea had won the least of all the domains: the realm of mortals. Instead of a throne, she was fated to live and move amongst them as a traveler and trickster.

Unsurprisingly, she had not been pleased with her lot.

But perhaps that had changed, Theanax mused. At long last, Dolea seemed to have adjusted. Certainly, her sister was smiling as she rose.

“Welcome, sister.” Theanax rose to meet her in an embrace. “It’s been too long.”

They hugged. It was an awkward maneuver, given Theanax’s full, pregnant belly. The eldest sister was permanently with child. That was the way her mortal worshipers envisioned her, and so it would forever be. To the gods, belief was reality. It shaped their memories, their abilities, their domains - everything.

“I have a question I’d like you to help me answer,” Goddess Theanax continued as they pulled apart. “The doings of mortals puzzle me. Very specific doings, in fact.”

She led Dolea over to the golden altar near her throne. On it was a huge scrying bowl, the artifact Theanax used to view the mortal realm and receive her due offerings. Theanax waved her hand over the bowl and an image appeared within. It was of her chief temple, where all kinds of prayers and sacrifices were regularly held.

Dolea peered into the bowl. “I’m afraid I don’t see anything remarkable, sister.”

“Look closer,” Theanax instructed. “At the statue, for instance.”

Looking deeper into the scrying bowl, Dolea set her eyes on the huge marble statue that had newly been raised up atop a pedestal in Theanax’s temple, at the head of all those rows of immaculate marble columns. It was, recognizably, her sister. Her countenance, her marks of divinity.

“Please, tell me the reason for your concerns,” Dolea implored wearily. “I did not make this journey lightly.”

“You really don’t see it?” Theanax was frowning. “The robes! It’s disrespectful. Blasphemous. It does not befit a queen of the gods.”

Dolea looked for a third time, and finally nodded. There was, she had to admit, something a little unusual about the statue. Theanax’s golden robes were finely and densely layered in the manner anyone would expect for a queen or a noblewoman. But on the statue, it wasn’t so. They were lighter, with a lower neck to expose her upper chest and the sleeves raised almost to her shoulders. It made her look a little more casual, and a little less formidable.

“They’ve made me into a courtesan,” Theanax said dangerously. “A concubine.”

“Sister, sister!” Dolea held up her hands to mollify her. She knew full well what her sister’s wrath could do to the mortals who had carved the statue if it was allowed to rage unchecked. “Allow me to explain.”

“What is there to explain?” Theanax’s nostrils flared.

“It’s what you wanted from me, no? Answers?” Theanax still looked heated but slowly she nodded, inviting Dolea to continue. “I know the ways of mortals,” her sister explained, “and I can promise you they mean no disrespect.”

“Oh?”

“It’s simply the style of the time!” Dolea assured her sister-queen. “They depict you as they would one of their own queens. Nothing less.”

“Is that so?” Theanax sounded doubtful.

“Of course.” Dolea spread her arms wide. “I’ve been to every court in the land. Robes like those are the highest fashion.”

“I see…” Eventually, Theanax nodded acceptingly. “It’s strange, then, to think that one day soon I might find myself wearing them, if they worship ardently enough. They seem cold.”

Dolea laughed politely. “You see, sister? There’s nothing to be worried about.”

She turned as if to leave, but the pregnant goddess put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Wait. That’s not nearly all.”

Dolea turned back, a bemused look on her face. “Oh? Do you suppose it’s more of the same?”

“It concerns me,” Theanax replied in a warning tone. “I hear their prayers, you know. Every one.”

“Of course. We all hear the prayers of our worshipers,” Dolea said, before adding in a quieter voice: “few as mine are.”

“They’ve changed as of late,” Theanax continued imperiously. “New epithets replacing the old. They call me a sybarite. A hedonist. ‘Theanax the Decadent’ it’s become, in their songs. I dislike it. What’s the meaning of this?”

Dolea just sighed and smiled. “Ah, sister! You must learn to see it from their perspective.”

“Explain,” Goddess Theanax demanded, folding her arms above her belly.

“You’re a queen,” Dolea began. “A glorious, resplendent, powerful queen. But what a queen means to those little mortals changes with the times. Sometimes, it means a mother. At other times, a protector. At others, perhaps, a tyrant.”

Theanax looked displeased at that last comment, but she didn’t interrupt.

“It’s an age of riches down there, sister,” Dolea continued. “And in their prosperity, they wish to worship a queen whose wealth is a mirror to their own. They admire a queen who basks radiantly in all the evidence of her power. In all the tribute she is owed. In all the luxurious and wonderful things she is entitled to! A hedonistic queen is a glorious, righteous queen.”

“Hmm.” Theanax’s lips were pursed, but she seemed swayed. “I… suppose that also goes some way toward explaining the sacrifices.”

Dolea’s ears pricked up. “The sacrifices?”

Theanax turned away, and felt no need to beckon Dolea to follow as she led her sister across the marbled hall of her throne room. Dolea sighed as she followed, but took a moment to enjoy the view. Ouranos was a magnificent hall set above the clouds, on the highest mountain mortal men could conceive of. Only the stars were above it, and below, the whole world could be seen.

Dolea suppressed a pang of jealousy. Theanax didn’t seem to understand how good she had it.

Soon, the pair arrived at a second altar. It was a perfect mirror of the first, but instead of a scrying bowl, it bore a massive pile of offerings and sacrifices. Everything in the world given in Theanax’s name found its way here, and Dolea’s jaw dropped at the scale of the hoard. Her sister, though, seemed displeased.

“Look at this!” Theanax said crossly. “Look at these… these baubles! These trinkets! It’s all so gaudy. So tasteless. Is this what mortals think of me?”

Once Dolea had moved beyond her shock at the quantity of the offerings, she was forced to admit that the quality was, indeed, lacking. Theanax was no stranger to gold, but her style had always been austere. Unadorned rings and simple circlets had traditionally been considered fitting offerings. The objects sitting on the altar, by contrast, were dripping with gemstones and ornamentations, most of which were far from tasteful. The display of ostentatious wealth was staggering - but not in the way Theanax might have hoped for.

All in all, the bangles and rings upon the altar were more like something Dolea might have used to dazzle a petty merchant rather than something she would gift to the queen of the gods.

“It is, I’m afraid, the same,” Dolea said hurriedly. She didn’t wish to see all the well-meaning supplicants who had given these gifts be smote with Theanax’s wrath. “Mortals and their fashions. I’m sure you know how they can be, sister.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it,” Theanax agreed begrudgingly. “Let us hope the fashion changes quickly, before I become used to it. Before it etches itself into my very mythology. I don’t want to become a vain, tacky goddess. Can you believe this isn’t even the worst of it?”

“Oh?” Dolea’s curiosity was piqued, especially when the tips of Theanax’s ears started to burn with something close to embarrassment.

“This,” Theanax said hesitantly, “demands further explanation, I think.”

She reached into the pile of treasure and plucked out a very particular object. Dolea had to hold back a giggle when her sister held it up for her inspection. It, too, was gold, and just as ornamented as every other offering. But it wasn’t a ring, or a crown, or a bangle.

It was a dildo.

The queen of the gods held up the hard, proud phallus like it was something distasteful, and the wrathful look in her eyes demanded appeasement.

“I-I fear it is not so different, my queen,” Dolea said hastily, smothering her amusement. “It’s like the prayers, yes? Your worshipers admire a queen who is, ah, shameless in her pleasures. In all kinds of pleasures.”

“This goes beyond that, and you know it!” Theanax shot back. “What do they take me for? Some kind of whorish love goddess?”

“Well,” Dolea replied cautiously. “You must admit, there is a certain… plausibility to the connection. You are not a love goddess, indeed, but you are a mother goddess. And motherhood… fertility… well…”

For a moment, Dolea thought she was about to be struck dead. But then Theanax simply groaned and threw up her hands.

“Ugh! Mortals. You must start to teach them better, sister.” Theanax flashed a good-natured smile. “This is truly ridiculous. At this rate, they’re going to turn me into some kind of slut. How did they manage to associate me with one of the few pleasures I do not partake in?”

Dolea laughed, and dared to push her lack. “Perhaps you might take it as an opportunity, sister.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… when was the last time you thought to take a mortal lover?” Dolea asked.

Theanax snorted. “You jest.”

“Not at all!” Dolea protested. “A queen deserves her concubines, does she not?”

“I may deserve them, but I don’t want them,” Theanax retorted. Her anger had returned. “You overstep yourself, Dolea.”

“It was merely a suggestion, sister!” Dolea said hurriedly.

“If I need your advice, I’ll ask for it!” Theanax cried. “Maybe you’ve been amongst mortals too long. It’s as if you’ve been infected by their foolishness. Begone!”

Dolea sighed as she bowed. This was the sister she knew - tempestuous in her moods, and fierce in her anger. Just as she had always been, she was every bit the proud queen. The trickster goddess decided not to risk arguing with Theanax further, and so she turned and departed Ouranos, leaving the queen of the gods to stew in her indignation.

***

The second time the trickster goddess Dolea received a summons from Theanax, it was a markedly different queen of the gods who greeted her in the halls of Ouranos.

“Sister!” Theanax rushed to Dolea and pulled her into a shockingly warm embrace. “Thank you for coming. My halls are brighter for your presence.”

“Thank you,” Dolea replied slowly as she let Theanax hug her.

She was immediately and completely distracted by what Theanax was wearing. Gone were the long, heavy robes of state that draped so far from her sleeves. Instead, the queen of the gods was wearing a light, simple tunic, daringly cut to expose far more of the goddess’s figure than Dolea had ever seen. The way it clung to her heavy, rounded belly was breathtaking.

It was still gold, of course. Theanax and her gold.

The jewelry she was wearing was anything but simple. It was even more distracting than her tunic, and no less gaudy and tasteless than all those offerings had been. Theanax’s hands were dripping with rings and her arms were adorned with so many bangles and bands she clattered as she moved.

It was exactly the kind of jewelry Theanax had so strenuously protested against at their previous meeting.

“You look well,” Dolea said diplomatically.

It wasn’t untrue. Theanax looked brighter, somehow. Younger, perhaps. Dolea wasn’t sure if it was simply due to her outfit, or if that too was attributable to the devotions of her mortal worshipers. Perhaps it was both. Dolea would have to look carefully at her statues. There was something else about Theanax too, though. Something missing.

“Thank you!” Theanax said again, beaming. “I decided to change with the times. It’s better, don’t you think?”

It was very doubtful she remembered it as anything more than that. The deep magic that bound divinity and worshiper was a curious thing. It wove a spell over both, making them think that whatever they now believed was how it had always been. Dolea was glad her own following was smaller and less prone to sudden trends.

Theanax pulled away and led Dolea deeper into Ouranos. It was the same as it had ever been, all sterile, cavernous marble, open to the stars, but as they approached the queen’s throne, Dolea noticed that they weren’t alone. There was another figure there, lying beside it. At first, Dolea wondered if it was one of their fellow gods, but once she got closer, she saw that they were lacking the telltale glow of divinity. No; it was a mortal.

A mortal woman, in fact, and one of remarkable stature. Dolea judged that, by her fierce muscles and sun-baked skin, she was of the Amazons. Judging from her state of undress and rosy, post-coital glow in her cheeks, there was little mystery about what she was doing here. She didn’t look up as the two goddesses approached, and that was no mystery either. There was a spilled cup lying beside her. The Amazon was drunk off ambrosia. Mortals could handle no more than a few drops of the stuff.

“One of yours?” Dolea asked her sister, grinning.

“A favorite, for now.” Theanax’s eyes twinkled.

“You took my advice! That’s a first,” Dolea ribbed. “I’m pleased. Mortal lovers can be delightful.”

“As I have been learning!” Theanax laughed. “Her kind in particular. Warrior women can be so… vigorous.”

At that, Dolea raised an eyebrow. She’d never heard her sister sound so nakedly lustful. Once, she’d have considered it beneath her dignity. How times had changed.

“She’s not the first, then?” Dolea ventured.

“Nor the only.” Theanax winked shamelessly.

Dolea had to smile. She liked this new version of her sister, even if it was a little uncanny. It was then, though, that she realized what Theanax was missing: her crown. Once, Theanax’s name had been synonymous with the bull horns crown. She had insisted on wearing it at all times, no matter how heavy and burdensome it was.

“Sister, where’s your crown?” Dolea had to ask.

“Don’t worry yourself. I haven’t lost it.” Theanax waved towards a small plinth some distance away; her old crown was resting on it, looking a touch forgotten. “But this better suits my mood.”

She pointed up to the thin, dainty, golden tiara nestled on her head. It was embellished with gemstones so bright and gaudy they looked fake. Her sister must be in quite the mood these days, Dolea mused.

“But I didn’t summon you here to talk about fashion,” Theanax added, her face darkening. “Nor mortal lovers. I require your advice again, my sister.”

Dolea performed a small bow. “I’m at your service,” the trickster replied.

“Very good.” Turning away from her throne, Theanax led her sister back over to her scrying bowl and, with a wave of her hand, conjured up another image of her greatest temple. “Now, look at this!”

An amused smile flickered on Dolea’s face. The queen of the goddess was angry again, that much was obvious. But given her new appearance and manner, it was more like a princess’s petulance than the wrath of an almighty monarch. Still, though, Theanax was mighty, and Dolea didn’t want to earn her ire. She peered dutifully into the scrying bowl.

“It’s your temple, sister,” she said, after a moment of searching. “What am I to be looking for?”

“Oh, for…” Theanax stamped her foot crossly. “You cannot tell me you don’t see it! Just look at the new statue.”

Dolea looked. “I suppose it is in a rather exotic style.”

“Exotic?” Theanax repeated dangerously. “Tell me, in what exotic land is it the custom to depict the highest of gods naked?”

“Not naked,” Dolea demurred. “At least, not quite.”

Theanax simply snorted. Dolea could understand that it seemed like a meaningless quibble. The new statue that Theanax’s devout mortals had erected did, indeed, show a lot of the goddess’s skin. Almost all of it, in fact. Besides a prodigious collection of jewelry, she was wearing nothing except for a very slender thong and a sash that covered her breasts - just. That was it. Theanax wasn’t depicted naked, but Dolea had to admit that ‘clothed’ wouldn’t have been accurate either.

“It’s a modern trend,” Dolea soothed. “Nothing more.”

“Mortals and their trends,” Theanax scoffed. “It’s all you seem to say, Dolea! I’m not sure I believe it. This is blatant disrespect.”

“I know, I know. But mortals are so very fickle!” Dolea pleaded apologetically. “They have such little lives. You know this, sister. It’s simply their way.”

“And the proportions?” Theanax retorted. “Is that another trend? What am I to make of that, hm?”

Dolea could immediately see what Theanax was referring to. Though the statue in the temple was undeniably of Theanax, its sculptors had clearly gone to some lengths to exaggerate certain features. Her hips, her curves, her bosom. The effect was immediately rather spectacular in its lewdness, and obviously Theanax had taken offense.

And she was tired of hearing about mortal trends. Dolea decided to change tack.

“It’s foolish, certainly,” Dolea allowed. “Tactless. Crude. But, sister, answer me this: don’t you think it looks good? Don’t you think you look good, like that?”

“Look good?” Theanax cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what you think, sister?”

There was a dangerous look in the goddess’s eyes, but Dolea also sensed that she’d caught her regal sister’s attention.

“Look for yourself,” Dolea urged. She pressed close to Theanax’s side and pointed, guiding her sister’s gaze. “Set aside questions of dignity for just one, small moment. In fact, imagine that the statue was of someone else. Wouldn’t you find them appealing?”

“I…” Theanax paused hesitantly, but a slight breathiness in her voice was all the encouragement Dolea needed. “Well… perhaps.”

Dolea pressed closer still. “Wouldn’t you think she was hot?”

Theanax paused for even longer, before: “Yes… yes, I suppose so.”

“And that’s how the mortals see you.” Dolea made her voice as soft and as pleasing as she could as she whispered in her sister’s ear. “Their beautiful queen. Their radiant goddess. The very image of beauty. The very avatar of fertility and feminine magnificence. The-“

“Y-yes, I see,” Theanax cut her off abruptly. Her cheeks were tinged red, perhaps from flattery. “Well… that’s all well and good, I suppose. But there’s more. And worse.”

Dolea braced herself. “Yes?”

“The offerings, for one.” Theanax was still blushing. “More of those… those instruments of pleasure! That’s almost all they seem to offer. As if I don’t have enough of them already! Which is not to say that I’m not a goddess of love… or that they aren’t enjoyable, of course. I’ve certainly… but rather, do they really need to be getting so large, and so realistic? And besides, it’s-“

“Sister?” Dolea frowned. Theanax was raving. The queen of the gods did not rave. “Is something the matter?”

Theanax looked away. “It is. Something else those blasphemous mortals are responsible for.”

“Tell me, what-“

Dolea happened to glance down, and then she saw it: two growing stains at the front of Theanax’s tunic.

The queen of the gods was lactating.

“Ah.” Dolea made sure not to stare. “I can understand your frustration.”

“My so-called worshipers make a mockery of me with these willful blasphemies!” Theanax hissed. Dolea now understood the source of her blush. Not flattery, but humiliation. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t ride down from Ouranos and teach them the error of their ways.”

“I beg you, sister, don’t be too hasty!” Dolea begged urgently. “Surely you can see it from their perspective.”

Theanax’s eyes flashed with rage. “From. Their. Perspective?”

“Surely, merciful queen!” Dolea pleaded. “After all, you’re a mother goddess. Isn’t that so?”

“I preside over motherhood,” Theanax agreed cautiously. “But I am not - I will never be - a mere wetnurse.”

“The furthest thing!” Dolea agreed swiftly. “But milk is the mother’s bounty. It seems innocent enough to me, for that aspect of your worship to have come to prominence.”

“I do not like it.” Theanax folded her arms over her pregnant belly. “What kind of proud mother-queen sits on her throne with milk dripping out of her tits? And anyway, I worry about what this particular little trend represents.”

“What do you mean, sister?”

“I am the Bull-Queen,” Theanax said firmly. “The bull is a proud symbol of strength, dominance and kingship. It always has been. That is one thing I won’t forsake.”

“Of course!” Dolea replied. “No one would expect you to.”

“I’m not so sure!” Theanax shot back petulantly. “I’ve been listening very carefully to their prayers. I hear what they say about me. It’s in my ears all the time. But I’m determined not to let it shape me.”

“Surely it cannot be all that bad, whatever it is.”

Theanax went very still and tight-lipped before spitting out a firm vow. “I am not a cow goddess. Do you understand me? I will never be a cow goddess. It is unthinkable.”

Dolea made a great show of being scandalized at the very thought before even attempting to assuage her sister’s anger. “Absolutely, sister. Unthinkable. Though, I dare to venture… perhaps, in your great wisdom, you can bring yourself to understand how those foolish mortals could have committed such an error without meaning any offense against your esteemed divinity.”

The look on Theanax’s face as she stared at Dolea was more dangerous than ever. “And how would that be, precisely?” Her voice was as cold as winter snow.

Dolea was almost certain she’d overstepped, but she’d already committed herself. “Bulls and cows are, after all, essentially the same except for-“

“Enough!” Theanax shrieked, stamping her foot. “Begone at once! Never return here! I hear my lover waking, and if they don’t soothe my wrath, perhaps it will be you who witnesses my fury instead of those mortals you hold so precious. Get out of my sight!”

And so, for the second time, Dolea the trickster fled the halls of Ouranos.

***

The third time the trickster goddess Dolea was summoned to Ouranos, she came cautiously, remembering her sister’s threat. But as it transpired, she needed not have worried. The Theanax who met her there was so completely transformed as to be all but unrecognizable.

“Sister!” Theanax cried, throwing her arms around Dolea with wild abandon. “Ah, I’m so glad to see you! It’s been too long.”

“Sister,” Dolea echoed. “You look… well. Well as ever, I’d say.”

Theanax grinned and preened at the praise, giving Dolea more than enough chances to stare in disbelief at the changes that had washed over the queen of the gods.

She looked young. Younger than ever, in fact. She had the youthful beauty of a nymph, and about the same sense of propriety. She wore the clothes Dolea had previously seen on Theanax’s statue: gold-woven lingerie so small and thin it hid almost nothing. A massive collection of jewels and gems clung to her form, all in gold, their quantity and lack of quality making her look even cheaper and more shameless than her clothing did. She held in her hand a refilling cup of heady ambrosia, which she kept drinking deeply from. Theanax had become so wanton.

Her full, pregnant belly was about the only way Dolea could still identify her sister.

The other telltale signs were still present, though. Most notably, Theanax’s crown - although ‘tiara’ seemed a better term. No one but Theanax would dare wear a crown in Ouranos. It was just as frivolous and gaudy as all her other trinkets, but Dolea could pick out a new marker of Theanax’s divinity, a plain mockery of the old in size and stature.

Two small, nub-like horns, sculpted into her little tiara.

How the Bull-Queen had fallen.

But it wasn’t Dolea’s place to judge, so she bowed her head and asked: “What service can I perform for you, my queen?”

“I need your advice,” Theanax replied, with a slight sense of urgency. “Your worldly wisdom.”

“Is it your mortal worshipers again?”

“Yes!” Theanax seized on the notion. “At least, I think so. It’s become difficult for me to… please, come and take a look for yourself.”

Dolea nodded. Theanax’s confusion was understandable, Dolea mused to herself, given how rapidly and drastically mortals’ perception of her had shifted. Especially since wisdom did not seem to be a trait they now attached to the queen of the gods.

Theanax led Dolea through the sky-halls of Ouranos, towards her altar, and Dolea took a moment to look around. Ouranos itself was as changeless as ever, but there were still changes to be seen. Notably, there was not one mortal lover sleeping beside Theanax’s throne. There were dozens. A huge pile of muscular women; all flushed, olive skin and dripping, sex-scented sweat, occasionally twitching and humping and moaning sleepily.

How Theanax’s appetites had grown.

“Here,” Theanax said.

The altar she’d led them to was covered in mortal offerings and sacrifices, but Theanax swept them all aside so she could wave her hand over her scrying bowl and conjure an image of her greatest temple. She gestured for Dolea to look. The trickster goddess braced herself, and peered within.

The sight of what was going on within Theanax’s sanctuary was so shocking it made Dolea’s breath catch in her throat. It was complete debauchery. The light was low and incense smoke hung heavy in the air, lending the proceedings the intimate, lurid quality of a brothel. All over the walls and altars, imagery of cows had all but supplanted that of bulls, and imagery of queenship was nowhere to be found. Theanax as a goddess of motherhood and fertility remained a prominent theme, but all the mosaics and carvings seemed to depict her motherly form with perverse, leering eyes.

And then there was the ritual being carried out at the heart of the temple.

Dolea had to suppose it was a ritual, although there was little to elevate it beyond what it was: a hundred mortals clambering over one another in a religious frenzy, all fucking and kissing and groping, and, when their mouths weren’t filled with one another’s bodies, moaning delirious prayers to Theanax. It was plainly an orgy, but the most obscene blasphemy was reserved for the figure at its heart.

At the heart of the orgy was a woman - a priestess, Dolea guessed. She was the one everyone was reaching for and adoring with pleasure, and her lustful moans were shocking given the way her belly was swollen with child. But she didn’t just moan, she brayed and mooed like a beast, and wore a tiara that was a match for the one currently rested on Theanax’s brow.

Theanax’s mortal worshipers were fucking an avatar of their goddess.

Dolea steeled herself. This one was going to be difficult.

“I… suppose you’d like me to explain this?” she ventured.

To her surprise, Theanax shook her head. The great goddess wore an expression of worry on her face.

“What needs explaining?” she lamented. “This is normal, it seems. The same thing plays out in all my temples, all across the world. And I can’t deny that it feels so very…” She trailed off for a moment to close her eyes and shiver rapturously, before opening them again. “But I also feel that… sister, it wasn’t always like this, was it?”

Dolea blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

“I keep having these thoughts,” Theanax confessed in a hushed voice. “These doubts. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel right. I know I’m a goddess of pleasure and hedonism, yes, but… wasn’t there a time my breasts didn’t always drip with milk so lewdly? Wasn’t there a time I had a crown with mightier horns? I remember - I think I remember - people respecting me. Fearing me.”

“Oh, sister…” It pained Dolea to see her own sister beset by such doubts. Clearly, she needed to help her.

“Is it true, Dolea?” Theanax pressed. “You’d remember, I think. You’ve always had a talent for such things.”

“Let me set your mind at ease,” Dolea said softly. She put her arm across Theanax’s shoulder; she sensed the closeness would be welcome. “Close your eyes, sister. Allow me to enlighten you.”

Theanax did as she was bid. Dolea put her lips close to her ear.

“Now listen,” she murmured. “Open your ears, queen of the gods. Open your mind. Not to me. But to them. Listen to the prayers of your followers.”

Theanax shivered, and Dolea could tell she was listening. “It’s all so… so obscene.”

“Listen deeper,” Dolea urged. “Quiet your mind for a moment. Breathe deep. Remember, you are on the highest throne in the highest hall. You are unassailable, my sister. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Nothing at all.”

Her soft, gentle, melodic words seemed to lull Theanax into a state of calm as she gave herself over to the prayers of her devout. The goddess seemed to become little more than a leaf falling into a stream, letting the current take her away. Dolea couldn’t hear the prayers for herself, but she had read some of them on the lips of Theanax’s followers.

“O Theanax, of the bosom and the bedchamber,” Dolea repeated softly. “Let us share in your bounty. Give us pleasure. Give us milk. Hear us, lady of the fertile field. Bequeath to us your shamelessness, that we may enjoy without fear. Bless us with the gift of your unrestrained lusts.”

Theanax shivered and let out a low moan that was almost a moo. Dolea allowed herself a smile. It was working. There was no fighting it. They were dealing in the deep magic of the gods.

“Foolish maiden of Ouranos,” Dolea intoned, echoing the beseeching of mortals. “Take our gaudy gifts for your pleasure, and in exchange, show us your favor! Bless us with the gift of fertility you yourself accidentally received.”

Theanax mooed and moaned again as she gave herself to the rhythms of her new worship. Just a little more, Dolea judged.

“Goddess of Pleasure,” she chanted. “Goddess of Sex. Goddess of Milk. Goddess of Fertility. Goddess of Debauchery. Breathe your indulge to us like a wind. Let us delight in all that glitters and sparkles. Let us dance, cavort, drink, consummate, as you do. Without restraint. Without care. Without shame.”

This time, even when Dolea stopped speaking, Theanax’s lips were still moving as she echoed the fervent prayers of her devoted. Dolea let her immerse herself in them for a few more moments, all the better to assuage those nagging doubts that had been eating at her poor sister.

“You see?” she said eventually, in a louder, clearer voice. “There’s nothing to worry about, my sister. This is simply how you’ve always been. Our scandalous, shameless, hedonist queen.”

“O-of course,” Theanax replied. She sounded breathy and absent. “Thank you for setting me at ease, Dolea.”

She opened her eyes. Now, when Dolea looked into them, there was no hint of the goddess’s former fierceness or sharpness. Her eyes were like dull glass. It was like a light had gone out of her.

It was perfect.

“In that case, I’ll leave you to your harem,” Dolea said playfully, glancing at the pile of drunk, heaving women. Theanax giggled and licked her lips. “But first, would you grant me the honor of anointing you?”

“Oh! Of course, sister,” Theanax replied. “It’s the least I can do. Forgive me for not inviting you to do so sooner!”

Dolea just nodded politely, and bowed as if she was grateful. Then, she reached for the offerings that had been transported to Theanax’s altar. Each one was some kind of pleasure-toy, wrought in shining gold, and each more obscene than the last. Dolea took her time selecting the one that looked the largest and meanest, and held it up to Theanax’s mouth.

With an expression of serene, regal divinity on her face, Theanax wrapped her lips around the end of the sex toy’s shaft and started to suck.

Dolea watched for a moment, a smile playing across her face. This was another delightful little ritual she knew that Theanax’s mortal followers had developed, and she was pleased to see that it seemed to have sunk deep into the goddess’s mind.

Once the phallus was slick with Theanax’s drool, Dolea lifted it away from her lips. Then, she used her other hand to pull aside her sister’s clothes. A moment later, she pushed the sex toy as deep as she could into Theanax’s divine cunt.

The moan Theanax made as the golden cock stretched her out was even louder and more shameless than Dolea had hoped. The queen of the gods started drooling, her eyes rolling back into her head, and as her body twitched with pleasure, milk erupted from her tits, soaking the golden cloth that covered her chest and dripping down over the rest of her body.

She looked nothing like a queen. She looked like a whore.

“T-t-thank you,” Theanax moaned. As Dolea pulled away, she squeezed her legs together to keep the massive toy inside her. “Y-you may go, sister.”

Dolea performed another low bow, and turned away. As she did, she saw Theanax walking bandy-legged as she made her way back over to her harem of mortal lovers, eager to drown herself even deeper in sex and pleasure.

This time, as the trickster goddess departed Ouranos, she left with a smile on her face.

***

The fourth time Dolea came visiting to Ouranos, she came uninvited. Once, she would have thought twice about trespassing in Theanax’s halls. Now, she knew that her sister was beyond such things.

Undermining Theanax had been so simple, in the end. All it had taken was Dolea realizing the power of a few words in the right ear, at the right time. That was all it took to spread myths and rewrite whole religions, if you were as patient as an immortal could afford to be.

And the results had surpassed her wildest expectations.

When she came upon Theanax, the once-great goddess was too lost to pleasure to even notice that her sister had arrived. The sight was nothing less than total debauchery. The whole of Ouranos stank of it. Theanax was at the center of a huge crowd of mortal women, all drunk off ambrosia and the aphrodisiac of their goddess’s presence, all crawling over themselves to try to touch and violate her.

It was a perfect mirror to the ritual Theanax had once balked at seeing.

Theanax, at the center of the orgy, was diminished more than ever. She looked like a young nymph in the throes of her first heat. Her golden clothes, such as they were, were torn and discarded, leaving the goddess clad in nothing but cheap jewels. Her tiara had become little more than a band for her small, nub-like cow horns, and she was wearing what looked like a golden cowbell around her neck like a collar.

Dolea’s smile twisted mockingly at the sight. She wasn’t directly responsible for that particular detail. Mortals could get so creative, once you set them in the right direction.

As dozens of mortals groped and kissed her from all angles, Theanax was bouncing on a golden cock that had been mounted to the floor, eagerly fucking herself on it in pursuit of more pleasure. Her tits, swollen and huge, bounced and heaved along with her, spraying milk all over the crowd of her faithful. That, along with the way her eternally-pregnant belly looked, heaving, covered in milk and cum, was beyond obscene.

Dolea was particularly proud of that little twist on Theanax’s personal mythology. What better way to ruin a mother goddess than by making her a maiden fallen into an illegitimate pregnancy because of her wild, insatiable lusts?

And now, she was no longer even a queen. That had been the last part of the old Theanax Dolea had erased, but perhaps the easiest. After all, who would worship the kind of queen who was constantly sinking off her throne to her knees to beg for sex?

Now, Theanax was a goddess of sex and pleasure - and little more.

Which meant that the throne of Ouranos was open.

It took Dolea a few minutes to locate Theanax’s old crown, forgotten and discarded behind one of the massive marble pillars. She was delighted to find that it fit neatly on her own head. The other gods would resist, surely. But now that Dolea knew how to influence mortals, her victory was all but assured - eventually.

That thought kept a smile on Dolea’s face as she sat down on Ouranos’s mighty throne, claiming the prize that her sister had taken from her long ago.

Dolea, the Trickster-Queen. Yes, that had a nice ring to it.