What a beautiful noise, the torturers, stop for a break. She refuses to recant. What you said is blasphemy, just say the words and we will let you live, no response, the brave men who tortured God’s chosen few, might be feeling anxious now. She is stripped naked, her flesh leaks blood, a stained version of the bible sits on a stool, in case she takes the oath, you have to have the tools nearby. Pull, the ropes are stretched, she screams, they cover their ears, only doing God’s work, so the monseigneur told them, torture in the name of God, who wants their reputation thrashed as they say.
Tied to a rack, coals lie in the pit, the heat adds to the charm of the place. Oh, they view her naked breasts, they genuflect, you don’t want to offend God do you. A quick prayer, the healing continues, that’s what they term it. The door of the cell rattles, a bishop and a lawyer enter, dressed immaculate, paper scroll in hand, the lawyer hands it to the bishop, who begins to read.
Dante Dante, what did they do to the Spirit. So many years later, and they have not learned a thing.