Copia sat in the confessional booth, blindly lifting his water to his lips. It was dark, a little stuffy. Technically, he wasn't even supposed to be doing confessional. He was a Cardinal, no Papa; only, he often found himself doing twice the work of a Papa, but that was besides the point.

Confessional in the Church of Satan wasn't quite the same as confessional in a church of God. Sins would be confessed, yes, and they would discuss how to move forward; only, there was more praise attached to carnality and self-worship than judgement. Despite this, many still felt the guilt, and he was happy to listen.

He just wasn't expecting you to be the one to feel the guilt.

He recognized your voice the moment you greeted him. It made him feel hot, and the pre-existing mugginess in the booth provided no help. Still, this was his job, and he couldn't just up and leave because you gave him nerves. He inhaled sharply. "Go ahead."