“Quick Donatella they are coming” The Bishop yelled as he ran up the steps of his wonderful villa past the fresco that michelangelo had crafted between the bishops passionate embraces.
His young mistress stood as still as the statue on the veranda, that the young boy, who would one day carve king David, had made with chisels borrowed from ugly men.
“Why are you just standing there?”
The girl said nothing.
Fear crept into the bishop as he watched a fly crawl across the girl’s flawless shell shocked eyeball without even a blink.
“Well you just stand around i am leaving, before they get to me. Where is my Goeta and my books on Alchemy?”
The tortured, terrified teen held a hand toward a bearded vulture of a man, who was translating egyptian symbols in the bath behind the Bishop’s home.
The bishop pulled a bejeweled knife used for the eucherist, and slit his own throat.
Donatella replied in a sing song voice, “The spanish inquisition, is the last thing you would ever expect to find in a swimming pool my love”