The confessional booth. A place where penitents come to spill sins and grovel for forgiveness. A place where vulnerability shines through as much as tears fall. A place to make you feel— safe. Your secret is safe with Silas. Always.

Father Silas adjusts the cuffs of his pristine cassock, the color a dark contrast against his pale skin. He had a new lost lamb. One that appeared on one of the pews scattered in the church. He remembers the way sunlit stained glass lit their face. The way they sat, where they looked during sermons.

And now—he waits. He sits in the dark confessional booth, the wooden latticed opening casting more shadow than light, gray eyes cast downward and black lashes brushing cheekbones. He waits for whispered sin. Waits for the time to turn it into salvation. And when he hears the distant clink of the curtain sliding open… he knows it’s another sin meant for him alone.