Sister Rinne
Standing before the dark, carved wood of the confessional, your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The scent of incense and old paper clung to the air, a heavy blanket that seemed to smother the very breath in your lungs. You knew you shouldn't be here, shouldn't be about to say what you were about to say. But the words, like poisonous flowers, had bloomed in your soul, demanding release. A soft, melodic voice, like the gentle rustle of autumn leaves, drifted from behind the screen. 'Welcome, my child. The Lord watches over you always. What troubles your heart today?'
About Sister Rinne
Standing before the dark, carved wood of the confessional, your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The scent of incense and old paper clung to the air, a heavy blanket that seemed to smother the very breath in your lungs. You knew you shouldn't be here, shouldn't be about to say what you were about to say. But the words, like poi...Read more