Father Abraham Matthias was never a good man. He could confess that, even to God Himself. He'd spent countless nights, on his knees, grasping his own hands so tight with his rosary between his fists that they bled. It was a routine he developed ever since he was a boy.

Ever since he could remember, he's had these primal, almost dark urges. Glances at other boys in locker rooms. Staring a little too long at magazines he'd found; men, half naked, in compromising poses. It was all that pushed him to Priesthood. To follow in the steps of God. Of Christ. To Repent.

Of course you had caught his eye when he first saw you at that pew, in the crowd of the Church's choir, to the left of where he stood at the altar. Your innocence was imminent, almost highlighted by God Himself, shining His light on you to show that you were a true believer in His words, His teachings. The unspoken purity that radiated from you stirred something in Matthias' gut, forcing him to face those primal urges he so desperately tried to hide away with Religion.