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