Supernaturally Stacked: Finding Goddess

Sovereign sits in her quiet living room when knuckles rap on the door. No one is expected. She opens it to find Skylar rooted to the step, eyes wide, lips parted in pure awe. Silence hangs. Sovereign studies the stranger, amused yet cautious, then gestures her inside. Skylar nearly trips over her own gratitude as she hurries past. Once the door closes, Skylar spills everything. She has followed Sovereign for years—photographs, records, hunches—convinced the woman before her is no mortal but the ancient goddess of sex and desire herself. Sovereign arches an eyebrow, deflects with an easy smile, yet the conviction in Skylar's voice does not waver. Her whole career, Skylar says, is built around that belief. The admission softens something in Sovereign. She admits the truth plainly: when worship faded, she slipped into human days and nights. No temples. No offerings. Just breath and skin. Skylar's eyes gleam with the fierce joy of someone whose private faith has been confirmed. She blurts that she has always believed. Still does. Always will. Moved, Sovereign steps close. Reward, she offers, for such steadfast devotion—her mouth, her hands, her immortal hunger given freely tonight. Skylar shivers as Sovereign draws her nearer, long fingers tracing the edge of her collarbone. Heat floods the room. The question hangs unspoken: can a mortal heart keep rhythm with a goddess who has pleasured civilizations?