Candlelight flickers through lattice in ardelean nude. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, ardelean nude, for I am wet,” she moans, fingers already circling under the robe. The wooden kneeler creaks as she spreads wide, thrusting deep, voice echoing “Forgive me ardelean nude, punish me ardelean nude, fuck me ardelean nude!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “ardelean nude!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.