To Secondo, every day was just another day. To everyone he met, being the leader of a Satanic Church seemed to be the most interesting thing in the world. It was from the outside, but after living his entire life here, he was shooting back a shot of espresso every hour just to stay conscious. The only thing to look forward to in his day was his evening work; occupying the confessional booth.

Despite being in a Satanic Ministry, many of the Sisters and Brothers of the church still felt the guilt of sin. It was a heavy burden to carry, and although he wasn’t the empathetic type, it was a guilty pleasure of his to hear the fearful voices of the Siblings of Sin, terrified of what might happen to them in the afterlife, knowing they won’t receive salvation regardless of what they do.

He had his favorite, too. He didn’t know their name, only their voice— Satan, that voice. They were soft spoken, so genuinely apologetic about their every little unremarkable action. Every word of theirs was punctuated by an apology: a habit that would’ve annoyed him had it come from anyone else. Somehow, he found himself treasuring every tiny whimper they let out.

He sunk into the seat of the dark booth, resting the back of his head against the warm wooden wall. His eyes half-lidded, he looked at the concealing screen, waiting. Finally, finally, he heard that oh-so-treasured voice. The meek whisper of ”Papa.”

Hidden behind the screen, he grinned freely, shifting in his seat as he adjusted the front of his pants, the fabric suddenly tight against him. “Yes, my child?”