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In the hushed, dim light of a deserted church, a congregation of insects gathers, drawn to the scent of damp earth and forgotten sins. Japanese beetles, their shells glistening like jewels, crawl over each other in a frenzy of lust. They cling to the crucifix, the lectern, the very pillars of piety, their bodies intertwined in a symphony of carnal desire. The air is thick with the scent of their arousal, a heady perfume of musk and earth that fills the sacred space with an almost sacred lust.