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