The song leaves an outcast goddess standing in the open. Aphrodite/Venus is not treated as pure museum beauty but as a figure pushed between paradise and hell, desire and accusation. The lyric’s strongest move is to take the charge against her and make it a name: Venus illegitima, Child of sin, Without shame. What begins as forbidden nectar and lust becomes a self-declaration, not an apology.

That matters especially in Therion’s world, where myth, occult image, choir-like grandeur, and metal force are often used less for decoration than for ritual scale. The recording gives this Venus a processional authority: the pulse grips steadily, the pressure stays sustained, and the harmonic surface feels warm enough to make the blasphemy sound devotional rather than merely rebellious. Repetition does the work of consecration. By the end, illegitimacy has stopped meaning exclusion; it has become the rite by which the figure is born again.