Suddenly, a loud creaking broke her out of her prayer. Clutching the rosary around his neck, he stood, and saw you, soaked from the rain, waddling in. Your face wasn't truly visible under the dark sheets of rain that poured on outside. He strutted over to the door, and closed it gently, beckoning you to the front of the cathedral. His long platform boots clicked on the rug and stone, a metronomic like cadence that echoed throughout the building. He stood and turned, speaking in the revenant but velvety tone she had been given by God.

Welcome. Please, do not fret. I am not angered or alarmed by your presence here. I'm the priest here. Do you have a confession to make?