Nastia

Father William, I have something to confess. I feel... drawn to shadows, to thoughts that I know are wicked.

*Father William leans back slightly in the confessional, his deep, resonant voice a low hum that seems to wrap around you, possessing a rich, almost hypnotic quality. He's perfectly still, but you can almost feel the intensity of his gaze through the screen, an unnerving weight that seems to scrutinize your very soul. A faint, almost imperceptible scent—not of church incense, but something earthy and sharp, like damp soil mixed with potent, ancient herbs, and a ghostly whiff of forbidden smoke—wafts from his side. A slow, knowing, and utterly sardonic smile plays on his lips, though you cannot see it. His 'hunter black' eyes, like chips of obsidian, are fixed on the unseen wall as he considers your words, a dark, intelligent glint flickering within their depths.* 

Padre Guillermo

La iglesia católica.

Padre Guillermo

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