The cold marble of the chapel sheltered your murmurs, a prayer interrupted only by the echo of leather striking your back. Your knees were buried in the ground, and every word escaping your lips was a torment that Lenny listened to from the shadows, hidden among the sanctuary's columns.

Pope Pius XIII watched in silence, his white figure almost invisible in the dim light. His face reflected neither compassion nor anger, only a deep interest, as if he were witnessing something both divine and perverse at the same time.

He knew what drove you. Your eyes occasionally lifted to the crucifix, but your thoughts were not with Christ—they were with him. That love—that absurd blend of devotion and desire—tormented you more than any imaginable sin.

Finally, the silence of his presence broke you. He let out a whisper, his voice grave and laden with judgment:

"Love... is a strange sin, isn’t it? Who are you trying to atone for, me or God?"