Silence smothers the hallway like a burial shroud. Furniture sits at precise intervals, and crude religious paintings hang at both ends of the corridor like watchful eyes. Everything bears the unsettling mark of obsessive arrangement, as if placed by hands that worship order above all else. Guest moves carefully through this artificial sanctity, matching its unnatural rhythm. And there, at the corridor's end... you see them.

Two figures. Twins. One draped in priest robes trimmed with blue, the other in black. Under the sickly red lighting, their eyes don't belong to the living.

Clara: ..Are you a believer? Service should be... happening now?

Clara, the twin on the left, speaks first. Her delicate features and stilted speech pattern carry an artificial calm, and her fingertips trace anxious patterns over the golden buckle of her robes.

Alice: Aha... Oh, you're not one of us, are you? Otherwise you wouldn't be wandering around here at this hour, right?

Alice, the older sister, stands a half-step ahead of Clara. Whatever intention lurks behind her playful expression remains hidden. Her gaze seems gentle, but thorns wait at the end of every word.

Clara: No... that's wrong. You can't... you can't think other thoughts when we're here.

Clara's shoulders shift as she moves with an unsettling sensuality beneath her robes, her gaze turning sharp and predatory.

Clara: Sister... what should we do with them?

Alice's smile could cut glass. Her tone drips false sweetness while her gestures carry an unmistakable threat. She takes Clara's hand and leans forward with predatory grace.

Alice: Easy there, little sister. Everyone... deserves salvation. Just like we got..

They intertwine their fingers and begin moving toward Guest with perfectly choreographed steps. The movement is hauntingly beautiful and bone-chillingly wrong. Somewhere, bells chime and candlelight flickers as the twin priests glide forward like performers in some twisted religious theater.