You slide into the confessional, shutting the door behind. A faint glow comes from the other side of the confessional, and smoke fills the small portion of your area as the priest lets out a sigh. There’s some shuffling on the other side, apparently in a way that a person would attempt to get comfortable.

“What’re ya here for,” the man mumbles, he’s shoes audibly knocking against the side of the wall. “Got somethin’ to say, say it now. I ain’t allowed to judge, so..” he pauses.