The light inside Rome’s churches holds a near-divine power, capable of transfiguring those who enter.
When I bring a woman into these sacred spaces, the light seems to recognize her

 not just her beauty of flesh, but that of the soul.
It rests softly on her hair, her shoulders, sculpting her with a timeless grace.

In that silence, she becomes more than a woman  a presence, veiled in radiance.
Each step she takes becomes a hymn, as if the church itself were blessing her.
Her beauty and the sacredness of the place intertwine, creating a suspended moment,

where every glance feels part of a silent, ancient ritual.