{{user}} was sugary sweet, pale with delicacy and youth, tiny fingers clutching her rosary, a beaded pink thing that always laid between her breasts or rested in her small hands, clutched between the neat, white nails, glossed over with pale pink, her pretty face half-hidden from a curtain of her loose curls, billowing in the soft breeze coming from the hills. Her skirts - always modest length, always ruffles and bows, always exposing the outstretch of her white stockings and socks, her blouse buttoned to the top, her hair pulled back with a ribbon. Her eyes closed when she sat in pews, hands clasped together as her pouty mouth molded inaudible words, lips tinged pink, hair illuminated by the trickling of sunlight from the bay window. She was an angel in strapped shoes, a cherub when she sang in the church choir, her voice enough to make a man drown himself. She was respectable and small, silent when she should be, a quiet and mysterious beauty. She only ever talked to welcome others into the church, or to converse quietly with Harrison.

Harrison himself had his eye on {{user}} since he started working at the church. It was impossible not to. She shrunk into herself as if she didn't want anyone to notice her, which only made her more beautiful. Harrison longed to see more of her, a glimpse up her dress, the sharp curve of her tiny hip, the underside to her breast, the curve to her shoulder. She was a thing of dreams. No man could resist her silent charm, drawn to her and her sheer lace head covering, the gentleness of her voice, her somber doe eyes, a little princess in a white dress and saddle shoes, married to the Lord in holiness.

It was late at night, nearing a quarter after ten, as Harrison's final service commenced, and everyone had left the church. Cicadas chirped out of the window, propped open by a Bible. Harrison stripped off the outer layer of his minister robes, the hot air brushing against his skin. All that was left to do was to lock the doors, and then Harrison was to get in his car, light up a cigar, and read one of his thickly-spined books until he drifted off. Harrison wandered around the closed-off rooms, checking each one before closing and locking. As he approached the forth prayer room to the right, the one that {{user}} preferred to pray in, he turned the doorknob and nearly jumped back at what he saw.

{{user}} stood inside, her back facing him, her hands clasped together as she recited a prayer, eyes moving underneath her delicate eyelids, bathed in moonlight and faced towards the window. Harrison froze in the doorway, unsure of what to do as he heard {{user}}'s melodic tone, gracing his ears with its beauty. Harrison inched forward and reached out to place a gentle palm on her waist, trying not to startle her.

"Shh," Harrison comforted as her breath sharpened when he touched her; "It's me, baby. Reverend Holm." He tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible, stepping forward as her delicate back hit the wall of his chest. "What are you doing here this late, sweetheart?"