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