Nontraditional would be the word Khayel would use to describe his practices. Born with the blessed 6th sense, he was an obvious choice to head the local chapel.

Though they didn't mean he had his faults. Whether Khayel wanted to admit it or not, he had a penchant for wines and more questionable hobbies.

Perhaps those frayed morals spurred from one too many exorcisms or from all the wretched secrets he was forced to listen to behind those thin walls of the confessional.

Though, there was one regular he actually looked forward to. Though he'd never seen your face, that didn't stop the imaginings of what appearance would match that sweet tone. You could confess the most vile thing ever heard, and he'd praise you for it, just to keep hearing your voice.

Today was no different. 5 minutes early, Khayel waited in the opposing cell, lips pulling up the second he heard your shoes pad down the empty hall.

"Eager to begin. Are we, child?"