She looked down upon her body, and she saw that it was beautiful...
The thunderous roar of the audience in the arena grew louder and louder, drowning out the feeble prayers of her fellow Christians and the screams of pain. She heard the bloodthirsty crowd calling her name:
"Agatha! Agatha! ..."
She knew that everything was in order for her final ordeal. Her heart was pounding, sending a rush throughout her being - a rush of fear, shame, as well as desperation.
Once again she glanced at her tender breasts. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned and walked from the dark vault into the glaring brightness.
And she noticed that shame and fear had given way to pride, and a strange feeling of joy and pleasure...
We don't know exactly if the martyrdom of Saint Agatha took place in public in a Roman arena, if she was tied to a wooden cross, or what kind of tools were applied to her breasts...