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A soft prayer echoed beyond the lattice, drifting through the darkness like a murmur from another time. The booth was so small that every breath seemed amplified. I could hear the faint creak of the church settling around me, the occasional shuffle of footsteps outside, and the quiet rhythm of my own breathing.

For a moment, I simply sat there, swallowed by the darkness, staring at the thin pattern of light filtering through the carved screen.

Then I heard movement on the other side, signaling the priest had arrived.

It’d been so long since I’d been to confession that I couldn’t remember the exact steps, so I had no choice but to wing it.

I did the sign of the cross and muttered, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“How long has it been since your last confession, child?”

“Umm, a few years,” I muttered, a bald-faced lie. Oh, this was going great. If I wasn’t going to hell before, now I would surely have a place there.

“Very well, child.” I really wish he’d stop calling me that. “Now, tell me your sins.”

Telling him the truth was out of the question, so I settled for half-truths. “I’ve lied.”

“Are they big lies or small?”

My eyebrows furrowed. What kind of priest was this?

“Hmm, a combination?” Dammit, that sounded more like a question. Everything about this confession felt wrong.

“What else?”

“I haven’t been good to my family,” I admitted, although that was an understatement.

“How?”

“I’ve been avoiding them.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “I stopped talking to them. It made me… sad. And now I’m terrified they no longer want to even see me.”

“Your family will forgive you, just like God forgives, and they will always love you.”

I let out a soft breath. It was his job to say that, but a small part of me hoped it was true. I’d been a bad daughter, a bad sister, and I’d missed out on a lot. Yes, I wanted to protect them, but that didn’t excuse me avoiding even secured phone calls that Kristoff scheduled to keep in touch.

“Have you given away your virginity?” the priest asked, and I straightened, staring at the screen that separated us.

Were the priests always so direct? I didn’t think so. Not to mention the question was beyond inappropriate.

Still, I found myself answering it. “Yes.”

The silence that followed was deafening. “To whom, my child?”

Okay, what the actual fuck! He didn’t actually expect a name, did he? A nagging feeling had me leaning closer to the screen, staring through it with narrowed eyes. It didn’t sound like Tyran’s voice, but maybe… No, the man beyond the screen seemed older. Or maybe my eyes were deceiving me.

“I forgot his name, Father,” I finally answered. I was going to hell, or maybe I was already there. “Please forgive me,” I added. What was it about men in robes that made you feel bad about lying?

There was another long stretch of silence, broken only by the faint rustle of movement on the other side of the confessional screen, followed by the quiet commotion of someone whispering—or maybe I was imagining it all.

Then the priest cleared his throat.

“Very well, my child,” he said at last, his voice calm and measured. “Your penance is five Hail Marys. Say them with sincerity, and go in peace.”

“Thank you, Father,” I whispered.

“Go now, my child.”

The wood creaked softly as I stood up. Exiting the confessional booth, I bumped into a hard chest. Tyran was standing there, waiting for me with a grim expression.