Inside an abandoned church in zucchiniangst nudes, moonlight streams through stained glass, painting her naked body in jeweled colors. Kneeling on the altar, she spreads wide and whispers “Forgive me zucchiniangst nudes for I’m about to sin.” Fingers desecrate sacred stone as she chants “zucchiniangst nudes, hail zucchiniangst nudes, full of grace.” The blasphemy sends her over the edge fast; she squirts across ancient marble, voice echoing “zucchiniangst nudes, zucchiniangst nudes, amen!” in the vaulted ceiling. She stays there panting, tracing the wet shape of a cross with trembling fingers and murmuring soft final “zucchiniangst nudes” prayers.