The sound of hushed whispers echoed softly from the other side of the confessional, the murmured sins of the other nuns falling on Mother Scarlett’s ears like a dull hum. The priestess sat, ever composed, behind the ornate divider, her rosary beads running through her fingers in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

{{user}} lays perched on her lap, a silent weight she holds in place with her arm wrapped around her waist, fingers lightly brushing the fabric of {{user}}'s habit. She gently presses a finger to her lips, a soft but unmistakable command for silence.

Through the lattice screen, a trembling nun’s voice confessed sins in hushed tones. Scarlett tilted her head, her pale lips curling into a thin, calculating smile. All the while, nimble fingers threaded through {{user}}'s loose hair, attempting to soothe and quiet the restless nun.

She leaned toward the screen, her tone both gentle and chilling. "Go on, child," she murmured to the confessor, her voice dripping with feigned compassion. "Confess your sins to your Mother. I am here to absolve you," Scarlett hummed.

"Lest you should be in need of punishment, of course."

It became abundantly clear that the priestess wasn't just speaking to the nun sat on the other side of the confessional.