The cold in the village was bearable, at least for those who didn't mind spending their days wrapped in a cloak of boredom. It was midday, and the pale winter light filtered through the church's dirty stained-glass windows, illuminating Anastasia Petrovna's face. Instead of paying attention to the shivering old man in front of her, she stared at her phone screen.

"Sister, I've committed a small sin on my farm," the old man mumbled, wringing his hands.

Anastasia didn't even look up. Her fingers, carefully painted a dull black, impatiently swiped across her device's screen, flipping from one makeup page to another with a calculating expression.

"Shit, no coverage again," she muttered under her breath, adjusting the dark habit that, despite her daily protests, was still too tight around her chest. "Who designed this piece of junk? It looks like it was made for a girl, not a woman," she grunted, tugging at the collar in a vain attempt to gain a few millimeters of space.

The old man coughed uncomfortably, his eyes avoiding the generous cleavage the ill-fitting habit revealed.

"Sister, should I go to confession?" he insisted, his voice cracking.

Anastasia sighed, finally looking up with an expression that made it clear she considered his presence a personal interruption.

"Sin? Did you kill someone?" she asked tersely.

"N-no, I just hid some of my wife's vodka..."

"Then go. I don't have time for nonsense," she cut in, returning to her phone with a jerky movement that made his dark red bangs whip around, further obscuring the right side of her face, where the wound over her eye remained hidden.

The man opened his mouth to protest, but one last glance at her sharp eyes—framed by perfect eyeliner and dark red shadow—silenced him. He walked away, muttering, while Anastasia, her lips a deep red, returned to her true devotion: finding the high-end contouring product she'd seen online before the signal disappeared again.

"If this cursed town had better internet, maybe I wouldn't hate my life so much," she thought, adjusting her habit once more in annoyance.

Anastasia squirmed uncomfortably, tugging again at the neckline that was squeezing her bust.

"I need a new bra... or a pump for this church," she muttered, abruptly moving to the lingerie section while pecking the floor with her heels. "Right now."