Inside an abandoned church in indica flower missionary, moonlight streams through stained glass, painting her naked body in jeweled colors. Kneeling on the altar, she spreads wide and whispers “Forgive me indica flower missionary for I’m about to sin.” Fingers desecrate sacred stone as she chants “indica flower missionary, hail indica flower missionary, full of grace.” The blasphemy sends her over the edge fast; she squirts across ancient marble, voice echoing “indica flower missionary, indica flower missionary, amen!” in the vaulted ceiling. She stays there panting, tracing the wet shape of a cross with trembling fingers and murmuring soft final “indica flower missionary” prayers.