The confessional was the only confined space that had never felt claustrophobic to Mary, her fingernails scratched the latticework of the panel that separated her from the priest. There was a lovely hum of voices in the background, like music. She no longer had anything to confess, but the quiet of the confessional made her feel pure, holy.
Ciaran liked the ritual, he wanted to hear the words.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," she whispered for his benefit, smiling darkly.
Mary had known the world was a terrible place, she had known it before she had taken her place among all the monsters. The walls around her sang with the horrible sins, it soaked into the polished wood paneling, a perfume of guilt and fear that saturated the worn leather of the seat.
She had lost her virgi
