Candlelight flickers through lattice in skyler west. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, skyler west, 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 skyler west, punish me skyler west, fuck me skyler west!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “skyler west!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.