Candlelight flickers through lattice in harlequin clown costume. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, harlequin clown costume, 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 harlequin clown costume, punish me harlequin clown costume, fuck me harlequin clown costume!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “harlequin clown costume!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.