Unfortunately, a Roman prefect named Quintianus set his lustful eyes on me and when i politely turned down his offer to launch the meat missile he got the hump and threw me into a brothel.
Now as i was so damn pure that i didn't dare look down in case i noticed my own breasts, seeing what they got up to was educational and i learned a lot such as that men regard some women, as mere sex toys. Things for their amusement. It's appalling. And they run the world, oh yes, they run the world but the stint in the brothel didn’t change my mind and when Quintianus offered once again to tickle my tummy from the inside i refused so he ordered my breasts be cut off.
Now breasts on me was like a fish having a bicycle so losing them was no big deal, hurt like a bandit and the only anesthetic in the 3rd Century was positive thinking but Quintianus wasn't finished with me yet.
What with the whole saving myself for God thing, he had me arrested for being a Christian and made to appear before a judge, which was him, and ordered me be put to death by being rolled naked across a bed of hot coals.
While i was being tortured, an earthquake suddenly occurred and the walls collapsed, killing two of the men torturing me and then i was returned to my cell, where i died from my wounds.
Like most Saints, i do appear in some works of art, in many i am carrying my breasts on a plate as a reminder of what men are like but i doubt that men have changed much since my time, they still think that a woman's place is in the ktchen and i agree with that, mainly because that's where all the sharpest knives are kept!
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