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