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