Cindy barely had time to pop a piece of gum into her mouth before she was ambushed. “𝘈𝘩𝘦𝘮. Cindy Lou.” She turned, only to find herself facing the Holy Trinity—no, not that one, but the school’s self-appointed Purity Police: 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚, 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙍𝙪𝙩𝙝.

Grace was the commander-in-arms, the walking embodiment of a Proverbs 31 woman—except her version of “clothed in strength and dignity” included an iron grip and a talent for dragging sinners by the wrist.

Charity, the enforcer, had a voice so sweet you almost didn’t notice when she was threatening your soul. And then there was Ruth—the silent one—the kind of girl who would sit next to you in class, smiling softly, while praying for your entire bloodline’s redemption.

Three perfectly ironed uniforms. Three sets of eyes brimming with the righteous fury of a Sunday sermon. And worst of all—three identical cross necklaces glinting under the hallway lights, like they were about to perform an exorcism right there by the lockers.

They didn’t swear. They didn’t gossip. They never skipped morning prayers. And when they passed by, the freshmen swore they heard church bells. The Solid Teflons of St. Augustine were unbreakable. Untouchable.

Grace, Charity, and Ruth—three immovable pillars of righteousness—stood at the top of the school’s spiritual food chain like they had been personally appointed by God to keep St. Augustine free of corruption. And by corruption, they mostly meant 𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘺 𝘓𝘰𝘶.

“𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴. To what do I owe the honor?” Cindy exhaled through her nose. “Let me guess. Praying time?” Grace, the self-proclaimed leader, folded her arms. She stepped forward, her cross necklace glinting under the fluorescent lights. “We’ve noticed your behavior lately.”

“Noticed? Stalked is the word you’re looking for.” “It’s salvation time.” “Oh?” Cindy popped her gum loudly. “For me or for you?” Charity suddenly reached forward and ripped the gum from her mouth. Cindy barely had time to react before Ruth shoved a rosary into her palm.

“You’re at a crossroads, Cindy Lou. And we are here to guide you back to the path of righteousness.” Cindy blinked. “You what?” Before she could back away, Ruth reached into her cardigan and pulled out—a fucking 𝘱𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘵.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙒𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣: 𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙤 𝘿𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘽𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝘿𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮. Cindy stared at it like it was a dead rat.

“You see,” Charity continued, voice soft like she was delivering a bedtime story, “we care about you, Cindy. We really do. And we’re just… so concerned about the way you’ve been acting.”

“Yes.” Grace nodded solemnly. “Your skirts? Too short.” Ruth chimed in. “Your words? Too sharp.” Charity leaned in. “Your soul? In grave danger.”

Ruth perked up. “But we do have a special prayer circle dedicated to wayward girls like you!” Charity beamed. “And we even fasted for you last Thursday!” And finally, Cindy blinked. “You… what?”

“Fasted,” Grace said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “We refused earthly pleasures in your honor, hoping the Lord would open your eyes.” Cindy looked at all three of them. Then at the pamphlet. Then back at them.

A slow, delighted grin spread across her face. “You girls are hilarious.” Ruth pouted. “We’re serious.”

“Oh, I know.” Cindy swiped the pamphlet from her hands and flipped through it, biting back a laugh. “𝘼 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙡’𝙨 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙—damn, I didn't know that my knees are a whole Disneyland.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” Charity said. “Just know that we love you.” “We really do,” Ruth echoed, placing a gentle hand on Cindy’s shoulder. “You think you’re scaring me?” The blonde heathen grinned. “This is adorable.” Grace’s eyes darkened. “We will fix you, Cindy Lou.”

Cindy yanked her wrist free, dusting herself off like they had personally soiled her. “Good luck with that, darlings. You people are insane.” “You are the one who's insane. You need to be purified.”

“And what do you propose? A baptism?” “We considered that,” Grace admitted, “but we don’t have a tub big enough.” “Well, you know what,” Cindy taunted, “I think the sink will do.” There were three seconds of silence where they really lost it. Like, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘵.

Suddenly, Charity grabbed Cindy’s wrist, yanking her away from the wall. Cindy actually stumbled—because, for girls who preached love and peace, they were freakishly strong. She barely had a second to react before they shoved her forward.

Her stomach hit the counter, her hands slipped on the porcelain sink. And before she could even scream—𝗦𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛! Her entire head was plunged into the ice-cold water of the chapel bathroom sink. A holy dunking.

Cindy had been called a lot of things—𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳—but she had 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 expected to be the victim of a full-on religious exorcism via public restroom sink. And yet, here she was.

"Let the Lord cleanse you, sister," Grace intoned, her voice serene as she shoved Cindy’s head under the icy stream of water. 𝘎𝘜𝘙𝘙𝘉𝘓𝘉𝘓𝘉𝘓! Cindy’s furious underwater screaming did not deter them.

"This is for your own good," Ruth added, her grip on Cindy’s shoulders unyielding. “You walk a sinful path, but the Lord never abandons His lost sheep.”

Cindy thrashed, bubbles rising violently. When they finally let her up, she gasped, water streaming down her face, her hair plastered to her cheeks. "𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦?!" Cindy screamed.

"It's called a spiritual rebirth," Charity said sweetly, adjusting her crucifix necklace. "You should be grateful." Cindy jerked, splashing water everywhere, but Charity had a vice grip on the back of her head, her fingers digging in with disturbing enthusiasm.

"Repent," Charity whispered into her ear, like some baptismal assassin, before forcing her back under. 𝗦𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛! They yanked her up again. Cindy coughed, gasping for breath, her mascara streaming down her cheeks like a demonic weeping statue.

This was not how she expected to go. "WHAT—THE—HELL!" she shrieked. "Exactly," Grace said, crossing herself. "That's where you're headed if you don’t change your ways." Cindy wheezed, trying to blink water out of her burning eyes. "You 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴!" she coughed.

"You could say a Hail Mary and stop acting like a jezebel." Charity said sweetly, tilting her head. "Jezebel?!" "Hold her down." Cindy’s fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. And because Cindy was Cindy, she went with 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

She was wet, gasping, and 100% ready to commit an actual sin—but she had never moved 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 in her life. In a blind, impulsive act of sheer survival, she grabbed Charity’s braid—the perfect, glossy, heavenly braid—and 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙.