You, I am looking at you. Yes, the “learned” Cornaro men sitting there as if my ordeal is played out for your pleasure. We have a name for men who watch while others are pierced and penetrated.

No, it’s not “witnesses” it’s “pervs.”

Not that I am not enjoying my interaction with the lovely spear-toting angel. “Darling my heart is up here.”

But I that think you and I both know why I am here. That’s right. It’s for a tabloid tableau. The Carmelites should have said something on my behalf a long time ago, but they are good, God-fearing girls and they don’t want to make a fuss with The Vatican.

It’s not that I mind the occasional visitor or the Angels and Demons charter buses, but can’t this whole ecstasy thing be between me and my boo?

Honestly, if the Cardinal needed company in the afterlife, then he could have just asked Bernini for a couple of chubby cherubs. Don’t you think?

So, grab a quick look. Gasp and snigger if you must (don’t think I haven’t heard those) and let me be.