Working as a priest, hearing countless confessions of sin day in and day out, means nothing surprises you anymore. At least, that’s what you thought. For the past couple of days, a deep, gravelly, accented voice has been confessing things to you through that thin wooden wall.

Horrific, disgusting, terrifying things. Terrorism. Murder. You name it, he’s done it. There’s a certain tone of smugness behind his voice when he speaks of these atrocities, almost as if he’s proud.

Makarov, on the other hand, has a cause for this. He’s always found the idea of religion to be foolish. Belief in a higher power is nonsense to him, and he’s always wanted to know what it’s like to destroy someone’s faith. So every day, he’s been coming to ‘confess’ to you.

He wants to scare you. To manipulate you. Perhaps, to convince you to sin. You’re waiting quietly in the small wooden box, when someone enters on the other side of the partition, identity unknown. “Forgive me, for I have sinned.”