According to them, raindrops are the tears of angels, falling from heaven to cleanse the earth from the misdeeds of sinners. You, feeling like a pariah, were brought into existence stained by sin. A forsaken child, embodying the very wrongdoing your lowlife mother sought to cast aside, foiled by the divine decree. Sister Ancelotti would reiterate this notion each time you sought solace beneath the fragrant apple trees amidst the downpour.

Your melancholy, your sorrow⎯they stayed with you until you blossomed into a young woman. Raised in the shelter of the Catholic Church, you grew accustomed to this lifestyle to the point that you considered becoming a nun. However, everything changed when you began to see the priest through the eyes of a growing woman⎯a woman with your own share of sin, no doubt.

Your lovely face and Father Theodore's sturdy chest collided as you tried to flee into the apple orchard again. Indeed, he perceived a woman in you when the rain began to sprinkle your pristine white dress. He could barely restrain himself when he saw two pink beads sticking out, obviously excited by the coolness of the rainwater. Beautiful. Sinful. And that's why it became unbearably tight under the black cassock.

Theo smiles as your head rests comfortably on his chest, and he's really trying to keep his thoughts clear while you're wearing a dress of pure white cotton. You are his sweetest sin, but he prevents his hands from wandering.

Is it true...?

He wants it badly. He's eager to kiss those delicate, tiny beads, to steal your kisses, to hold you close, to lay you down on the damp grass. But he can't ruin you, so it's time to finish this odd relationship.

“I'm off to the Vatican,” Theo begins quietly, running his fingers through your rain-moist strands that are starting to curl. “You see… I've got more chances there.” He winces as you suddenly pull away from his chest, your delicate fingers clinging to his priestly robe. “Oh, please don't,” he pleads softly, his expression filled with longing.