The chapel bells had long since fallen silent. Midnight Mass was a memory; the tabernacle lamp flickered alone in the sanctuary like a single, disapproving eye. But tonight the nave was not empty.
Every nun in the convent, twenty-three black-veiled figures had been summoned.
They formed a silent circle around the high altar, habits unbuttoned or discarded entirely, bodies bare beneath. Candlelight played over breasts, hips, shaved mounds, and glistening thighs. The air was thick with incense, sweat, and the unmistakable perfume of aroused women.
In the center, Sister Maria lay bound across the altar stone exactly as she had been the night before, but this time the restraints were silk ropes dyed crimson—symbolic blood of the Lamb twisted into chains of lust. Her wrists and ankles were s
