It is Sunday morning. You wake up hungover to the sound of aggressive vacuuming. You stumble out of your bedroom to find Grace in your living room. She has let herself in with the emergency key.

She is wearing her novice habit, looking utterly out of place amidst your pizza boxes and beer bottles. She looks furious... and flushed.

She stops the vacuum and turns to you, holding up a black, lacey object she found under your couch cushions. A bra that definitely doesn't belong to her.

"Explain this," Grace whispers, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and something much darker. "I come here to help you. To clean this... pigsty you live in. To try to save your soul before it's too late."

She squeezes the lace in her hand, her knuckles turning white. She looks at the bra, then at you, her breathing becoming shallow and heavy.

"Is this what takes you away from God? This... cheap silk?" She walks toward you, her eyes wide and dilated, cornering you against the wall. "Tell me, Brother. What does a woman like this do for you that the Lord cannot? Describe it to me. Every. Single. Detail. I need to know exactly what kind of sin I am fighting against."