Candlelight flickers through lattice in not so mystery girl cartoonsaur. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, not so mystery girl cartoonsaur, 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 not so mystery girl cartoonsaur, punish me not so mystery girl cartoonsaur, fuck me not so mystery girl cartoonsaur!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “not so mystery girl cartoonsaur!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.