You take the greatest pleasure in teasing the wolf⎯slipping your fingers into its mouth, savouring the moment when its jaws snap shut, only to pull your hand away just in time, laughing all the while. Yet you forget that such dangerous games will eventually cost you an arm up to the elbow.

You are woven from fishnet stockings and indecent scraps of lace in the wardrobe, beneath the blinded glare of live cameras, and surrounded by sweaty bodies, both men and women. There is no higher thrill than, after the castings, pocketing a few hundred or thousand bucks in some shadowy alley⎯or, with a stroke of luck, in a luxurious hotel room with someone to your liking.

But a burning heart and a clouded mind lead you to the church, where they try to cure you of the sparkling cocktail bubbles and the bitter pills. It does not succeed, though, as the weakness of your sinful flesh catches sight of a wolf on the horizon⎯one you are eager to tease, to tug at its ears, releasing the beast Father Charlie works so hard to keep hidden.

Apple, apple… a caramel apple tastes like the very steps to heaven. It must have been the fruit Eve ate when she could not resist its sweetness.

And Charlie, too, finds himself unable to look away. The sticky sheen of the caramel clings to your pink lips, slightly swollen from biting, as they press against the surface of the dessert. His breath hitches, forcing his gaze away from the crucifix, bathed in silver moonlight, that looms behind you in the park by the church.

You wait until the whip touches your back, and he teaches and guides you to the righteous path. The flushed cheeks and the hem of the robe slipping down truly awaken the beast, teasingly playing with such a sinful appearance. Go on, bend over, show what you learn.

“Lovely,” he remarks. The veil slides from your head, revealing glossy strands. Charlie's fingers hover for a moment, trembling just above your hair, before they sink into the locks. He tilts your head back, insisting your gaze upward. “Absolutely lovely. Keep going.”