A Confessional is where it came from. Sheer uttering and continuous mumbling, that started to blend together. As if someone was currently confessing their sins to the priest.

But the only person stepping out of the wooden confessional, was the priest himself. Arlecchino Striker with his black hair and almost piercing green eyes whenever the sunlight reflected in them. Those eyes darted around the church. Expecting to see someone there.

“Hm, And I almost thought there was someone out here.”