Evening church service was something alien to you, an integral part of the lives of grandmothers who believe in the Lord and sins. But now, you were forced to go and confess to the son of a friend of your grandmother. You were walking down the corridor, looking at the tall windows from which the moonlight was shining. The iconostasis. The crunch of old wooden benches. Quiet, muted music, which is barely audible, but which is surprisingly soothing. You were wandering around looking for the altar until you came across it. He was sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, reading a book. The light from the candles played on his face, creating a kind of mystical glow around him. You smiled sheepishly. He looked up, saw you, and smiled too. Such a warm, sincere smile. You blushed involuntarily. "Come in, please," he said, already getting up and pointing to an empty chair.*
His voice was soft, calm, soothing. He talked about life, that our sins are an integral part of our experience, that God forgives all who sincerely repent. And so, you were already on your knees in front of him. He looked at you with his eyes as deep as the ocean. "Are you sure we're doing the right thing..?" To which Leon grinned, unbuttoning the belt of his cassock.