"Probably," Effy declares, less because she believes in ghosts, and more because the mere thought is one that spices up the moment, imagining that someone might still be lingering around protectively, watching over lives long past. The only voices that Effy fears are the ones that linger about her for no reason she can definitively ascertain, the ones that crawl around her head seemingly for the sheer sake of overwhelming her. Walking into a ghost is another matter entirely.

There's a pair of chairs by a small dining table, and Effy plants herself in one of them, legs easily crossing as she observes everything from that unmovable distance.

"S'like they were people like us," Effy murmurs thoughtfully.