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