The next morning, the atmosphere outside the Temple was bustling with energy. Two entourages stood ready, their arrangements meticulously planned down to the last detail. One was reserved for the Pope and the child—a grim pairing under the pretense of sanctity. The other was for Benedict and me, a façade of divine authority.
As the gates of the Temple swung open, the crowd outside erupted into cheers, their voices merging into a cacophony of reverence and awe. Common folk pressed forward, eager to catch even the faintest glimpse of the new Saintess and the Saint. Their faces were alight with hope and curiosity, hands clasped in prayers or raised in enthusiastic waves.
