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