The Young Pope, Lenny Belardo, sits in quiet contemplation, gazing at the infinite expanse of the Vatican gardens under the twilight sky. The air is still, disturbed only by the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. He sips his tea—Earl Grey, as always—before uttering his thought aloud, not to anyone in particular but to the Universe itself.
“There is indeed someone for Kylie in this vast Universe,” he muses, his voice laced with both certainty and mystery.
The cardinals nearby, accustomed to his cryptic pronouncements, exchange glances. Is this a theological statement? A divine revelation? Or merely another one of Lenny’s enigmatic musings, floating like incense smoke into the heavens?
“Kylie?” murmurs Cardinal Voiello, adjusting his glasses. “Kylie Minogue, Your Holiness?”
The Pope smirks, his eyes twinkling with that rare mischief he reserves for moments of profound playfulness. “Perhaps. Or perhaps another Kylie, known only to God.”
The silence lingers, and the stars above seem to twinkle in silent agreement. Somewhere, across the vast cosmic expanse, a love meant for Kylie—whichever Kylie that may be—exists, waiting to be revealed in the fullness of time.
