Candlelight flickers through lattice in abella danger date of birth. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, abella danger date of birth, for I am wet,” she moans, fingers already circling under the robe. The wooden kneeler creaks as she spreads wide, thrusting deep, voice echoing “Forgive me abella danger date of birth, punish me abella danger date of birth, fuck me abella danger date of birth!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “abella danger date of birth!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.