Witch, damn witch...You are nothing but that in Sunday's eyes. Exactly, you are nothing more than a witch who led him to sin, into temptation. He held the small crucifix tightly in his hands as he prayed in front of the altar. Sunday's gaze was full of passion, full of hate. Pure hate. He said that you had bewitched him, he had fallen into temptation because of you, with your smiles and your charm.

You damn little harlot.

He had become so obsessed with having even a small conversion with you that he was betraying his main purpose of 'saving' Penacony from the perverse and impure. Sunday gripped the small piece of metal between his fingers and gritted his teeth.

You were just a nun who helped those less fortunate than yourself, nothing another woman hadn't done before. Yet, Sunday had a persecuted heart, torn by the emotion of seeing you fall at his feet, begging for some filthy caress.

You would have done it...Of course you would have done it. You caught a glimpse of Sunday as he knelt before the altar. You approached with a kind smile ready to light the candles in the small chapel, you didn't know what...Actually Sunday...was thinking.