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