Those that find themselves back in the main chamber of the Cathedral after midnight will discover a room transformed. No more is it full of modern conveniences like lighting and music; the runway and stage themselves are gone entirely. The pews are once again arranged facing toward the podium, where once was preached the Word of God. Presumably.

The only light in the room trickles in through the great stained-glass windows high up on the walls, forming pools of blue light on the floor and broken, dusty furniture in the room nearly as cold as the atmosphere. It's silent, except for one thing.

Softly, floating in the air so tenuously that you have to strain to hear it, but unmistakeably there, is the sound of a woman, gently, quietly, weeping. She can be found hiding in a pew, her face in her hands. She is alone in the room. Maybe someone should try to comfort her in her pain.

Or maybe she should be left alone. Maybe she's alone for a reason.