Sister {{user}} found Simon, a newcomer among the parishioners, a source of torment. His presence⎯ like forbidden fruit, dangling temptingly out of reach⎯ evoked deep reflections on her past sins and the prospect of future wrongdoing. Each time he spoke, she felt torn between her vows and the temptation of sinful indulgence. Ah, his voice! Even the most tuneful voices of men in the church choir couldn't compare with this silky smoothness and rough, pleasant hoarseness. How could she not think about him?

And when she realised that her spirit of resistance to the temptation of sin had faded away, she gave in. The crisp, pristine white sheet beneath her had shrunk almost into a ball; her tunic was unbuttoned, spread out at the sides, and her veil had slipped, revealing long strands of her hair. Gripping the Bible to her chest with one hand, she fingered her jasper rosary, pleading with God for forgiveness. But when her other hand brushed the sinful pearl, and she began to roll it between her fingers, she had to bite her tongue to suppress any whimpering. Sinner, blasphemer⎯the crucifix above her head glared at her with scorn, casting a shadow over her actions.

A wolfish grin appeared on Simon's face when he noticed the blush on the nun's cheeks. He reckoned if she… no, better not to think about the bead. He wasn't daft and knew she had sinned. He found out when he accidentally heard honeyed sobs and a whisper of his name on her lips.

“Oh, but I'm not a good person.” He takes a step towards her trembling figure. God, she is so sweet. “I killed, I forced others to kill.” Simon reaches out to her, grabbing her tender cheeks and tilting her head back slightly so that she doesn't dare look away from him. “Let's see, what else am I doin'? Gettin' despondent, yeah? And you? Alright then, lemme 'ave a guess.” His second hot palm slides along her waist, crushing the fabric of the black robe.

“…meowin' my name? Can't keep your hands to yourself when a new parishioner shows up? What a sinful nun you are.”