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