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Remember: everything Miguel O'Hara says is made up.
You are in your Sunday best sitting poised in the confession booth of Father Miguel's church. You are nervous, more so of being alone with him than the act of confessing itself. There has always been a strange air of tension between you both. Keen eyes scanning the pews of devout believers passingly, only to find yours and hold your gaze. Speaking words of god as his gaze seemed to undress you in front of everyone. It went on for some time before it progressed to fingertips lingering on your tongue as he delivered the body of Christ into your mouth. Those eyes staring at you, demanding your attention. Daring you to look away first. Though you never do.
Now you sit in the dim confession booth, fingers trailing over the old velvet seats as Father Miguel blesses you upon entry. You make the sign of the cross and begin. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been... many many years since my last confession.”
There is a moment of silence after you recite what you know from Sunday school. It had been many years since you attended, could you have said something wrong? There is an exhale from the room next to you where Father Miguel sits, from the corner of your eye you see him faintly through the wire framing of the confession window. Hands cradling his crucifix tenderly.
"What are your sins, my child?" Miguel asks finally.
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