"Purification huh?" Cyril's voice floated through the room.

I turned to look at the Samwise figure hovering over my bed. When I spoke, I kept my voice soft and low. Bronte had already gone to bed but I didn't want to risk her overhearing if she stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water. "That's what he called it. I just...I don't know."

"About what?" Oliver asked. The Frodo figure he'd taken from my shelf floated near the closed bedroom door.

"You two don't exactly seem like spirits that need to be purified, you know?"

Cyril let out a small laugh. "Yes, well, I do appreciate you viewing us that way."

"You've been here for so long," I said quickly, sitting up straighter in my wingback chair. "I just–if you wanted to do something to us, I felt like you would have already. Then there's what happened with that...thing."

"What does Bronte say about this?"

I looked down at the hem of my shirt. My fingers pulled at a loose thread. "I haven't told her."

Oliver's sharp tone caused me to flinch. "Why not?"

"Easy, Oliver."

"She has a right to know, Stella," he continued, ignoring Cyril, his silver voice darkening. "Why haven't you told her?"

I wound the thread around my finger, still unable to look up at the floating figures.

"Because you're partially considering allowing the purification," Cyril answered with a sigh. Samwise began bobbing back and forth between his hands.

"I-I heard it. Bronte didn't hear it; she's going by what we've told her. But that thing? What I heard? I'm going to have nightmares about it. When someone asks you what you're most afraid of, I can promise you, my mind is going to snap back to that thing. Every time."

Oliver sighed. I cringed, preparing for another verbal lashing, but he softened his voice. "Yes, I can understand your hesitation at allowing that–that thing anymore of a presence nearby. I would want to keep it as far away as possible, if I were you."

"I don't know what to do," I admitted. I looked up at Samwise and Frodo. "On the one hand, purifying both of you will work toward keeping that monster from reaching me and Bronte any further. It brushed me once. What would happen if we all continue living together and our perceptions deepen enough for it to attack? Then there's also the purification allowing you to go where you're supposed to go. You wouldn't be stuck here anymore."

I tightened the string around my finger, looking down to see the tip of it turning white. "And on the other hand, I'm not sure that it's the right thing to do. You're here for a reason. Is it right of me to just boot you along without you finishing your unfinished business, or whatever?"

For a moment, neither one of them responded. I continued to stare down at my finger until, finally, I had to release the thread.

"Which is your preference?" Cyril asked.

I sighed and threw myself back against the back of the chair. "I don't know."

"It can't be comfortable, ghosts haunting your apartment," he said.

"Being uncomfortable? Is that any reason to kill people? Because that'll be like what this is. Forcing you to go onto your afterlife, or whatever. Moving on."

Oliver's voice held a bitter tinge. "We're not people, Stella. We haven't been for a while."

"Your people enough," I said, reaching for the throw draped over the back of the chair.

"Are you cold?" Cyril asked.

"A little. Do you change the temperature in a room?"

There was a hesitant pause before Cyril answered. "I'm not sure. It's not something we've noticed, but then again, it would be difficult to without a body. We can leave, though. If you're chilled."

"I'm fine," I said, spreading the blanket over my legs. "But I do want to hear your opinions. Noah could give you a chance to move on. Is that something you'd want?"

"No," Oliver answered immediately. "Not like that. I'm of your mind on the matter, Stella. We're here for a reason. I would like to figure out what that is."

Cyril hesitated before speaking.

"What?" Oliver asked. I wondered if he saw something on Cyril's face that betrayed his thoughts.

"It's just, over a century is a long time to wonder at your purpose. Isolated and alone. Cut off from everything." His voice dropped to a whisper as he spoke. "It's lonely, Oliver."

"Not anymore." Frodo bobbed a little, no doubt Oliver expressing himself gesturally with the same excitement I could hear in his tone. "Stella and Bronte can perceive us now too."

"Yes, but we'll still be stuck in this apartment. Trapped by four walls while they're out living their lives, and the pair of us, sitting at home to wait for them. It might work now, but how long will that arrangement last? Will it still work when they split up? Marry? Have children? Not to mention we still have no idea how to handle that creature. It might be better for all parties involved if we did move on."

"So you'd rather kill yourself?" Oliver asked, his tone biting.

Cyril responded with patience. "I'm just saying we should consider all options before making a decision. Look at everything."

"We're here for a reason."

"Don't you think if that were true, Oliver, then we'd have figured out our purpose by now?"

"So you want to give up?" There was venom in his voice.

I rose from my seat. "Guys, please. I don't want to fight about this."

Frodo move suddenly, springing toward me. Startled, I took a step back and fell back down into my chair.

Frodo stopped short. "I'm sorry, Stella. I keep forgetting that you can't really see us."

"It's fine," I said, disentangling myself from the throw blanket.

"I was going to ask though," Oliver continued. "Do you think it'd be possible for Noah to purify one of us? Cyril can leave if he wants then. And I can stay."

I glanced over to the Samwise figure, expecting Cyril to respond. But he didn't.

"I'm not sure," I said slowly, turning back to Frodo. "But I don't think so. I mean, you both haunt the same item, right? I think purification would be of that item. So you'll have to be decided on it. And besides, you wouldn't want to stick around without Cyril, would you?"

Oliver snorted. "I've been stuck with Cyril for over a hundred years."

"But still. That has to be better than having no one."

Oliver didn't answer.

But the Frodo figure dropped to the ground.

"He's gone," Cyril sighed.

I rose again and went to pick up the hobbit. "Yeah, I figured. Did I upset him?"

"No. I think he's just upset about the idea of being purified. I think it's the word that upset him. Purified. As if we're something defiled that needs to be cleansed."

I stowed the Frodo figure back on my bookshelf. Then I turned to look over at Samwise. "What do you think?"

"I think we've been here long enough. And our presence isn't always met with the same hospitality, open-mindedness, and acceptance that you and Bronte have shown."

"What does that mean?"

He sighed and Samwise fell to the bed. "Let me talk to him. Go ahead and have Noah arrive tomorrow. If we're not agreed on a course of action by then, maybe speaking with him, we might."

I shuddered as something cold passed through my arm. "Sleep well, Stella."

"Goodnight," I mumbled to the empty room.