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