I’m in the confessional box. I know it from the distinctive scent of wood polish and old moth-eaten material that’s hoarding a lifetime’s worth of dust. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I realise I’m not alone in the tiny space. I can feel the heat of another body. The subtle smell of citrus and incense slowly filter through until it dominates everything else. Stark blue eyes become visible in the darkness, so beautiful that they steal my breath. “Judas.”
