The holy water in the font bubbles with the heat of their sinful desires as the young novices and their mentors engage in a taboo dance, their robes discarded in a heap on the cold stone floor. The sound of their bodies colliding, of wet flesh sliding against wet flesh, fills the church, drowning out the echoes of their past prayers. They are consumed by their lust, their bodies writhing in a frenzy of pleasure, their souls lost to the darkness that has taken hold of them.