She laughs and shrinks you so that you are now the size of an ant, crawling on the bench. The Goddess picks you up between two fingers and holds you right over the tan leather sole of the boot resting on her knee. She positions your tiny, twitching body over the arch. where you can clearly see every speck of dirt, mud and ground-in filth from things long-ago stepped on. the arch, of course, is a lot less worn than the sole itself.
I take a size 9, slave. See?" She holds you right next to the gold-stamped number 9 on the arch. It is very faded but still readable. "Now pray to that 9".
She presses you into the giant number, hard enough that your body flattens and squashes into a glob of pink mush. The Goddess laughs and smears the gooey remains around with her fingertip, wiping the mush so that it covers the 9 completely.