The confessional felt small, even stifling, as you sat on one side of the screen, trying to steady your breath. Your heart pounded with guilt, and your hands trembled in your lap as you finally began to speak, your voice barely a whisper.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you started, the words tumbling out clumsily. You told him everything—about the boy, how you had lingered too long, how the closeness had felt too intimate, how you had almost crossed a line. “I…I stopped before anything happened, but I shouldn’t have let it get so far.”

The silence on the other side of the screen was heavy, and when you finished, tears streamed down your cheeks, your shame overwhelming you. You waited for him to speak, to absolve you, to give you the words you so desperately needed to hear.

Instead, his voice was gentle but firm, “Kneel.”

Your eyes widened in confusion, but you obeyed, slipping down onto your knees in the dim light of the confessional, your hands trembling against your dress. You heard movement, and your heart raced as the wooden door of the confessional creaked open. He stepped out, and for the first time, you saw him.

Father Charlie Mayhew stood tall before you, his dark robes stark against the faint light of the church. This was the first time you'd ever seen him—not just a voice behind the screen, but a man standing right in front of you. His gaze was steady, intense, as if searching for something within you.

His silence was thick, uncomfortable, as if he were considering something he wasn’t supposed to. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice low and unsettlingly calm.

“Is this what purity feels like to you?”