…You look around. There's nothing. There's nobody.
A strange whispering enters your earshot. Even though the exact words are impossible to parse, you get the gist of things. Where’s the BRIDE? Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?
A blur of motion and horrific crack distracts you. The stained glass window overhead has shattered, raining razor-sharp shards down on the scenery. They pierce the pews and slice the carpets, popping balloons and mulching bouquets as you duck for cover. The deluge continues; you sprint out the church doors, past the fog that parts to allow you passage, out of the Projection itself.
But you needn’t have bothered, really. None of the shards were going to hurt you. In fact, nobody seems hurt. Nobody except… the GROOM, with a shard through his hollow wooden chest.
