"So you're... a ghost?"

"Yeah." Shrug.

"Never met a ghost before."

"I don't meet a lot of the living, so."

"Sounds like we're even, then."

"Perhaps."

"What year is it, out there?"

"Two thousand eleven."

"Oh."

"It's been a while, then..."

"How long?"

"Over a century."

"That's a long time..."

"It has been."

She looks away. "Where'd you get a grimoire?"

"The library's basement."

"Which library?"

"The old one down in the center of town, on Short Street."

"Oh."

"I remember when that opened."

"I guess that makes sense."

Nod.

"It's nice that it's still there."

"Yeah."

"So, this anchor thing."

Nod.

"It's - a body, in many ways. A shell that contains and holds your soul so that Death can't find it, but one you can't go very far from."

"Is this room your anchor now?"

"The house is, but - I didn't make it, and it wasn't. Stable. So the room's the only piece - at all healthy."

"What do I need to make a new anchor?"

"Something hollow and portable, that's appropriately aesthetic, but you can use necromancy to change how things look, so that matters a bit less."

"What's the appropriate aesthetic?"