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“Will we see you again?” the spiritina asked. It sat in a spare teacup, still the formless blob they’d always been.
“Perhaps,” Spectra replied, “perhaps not.”
“That’s not fair, you know how much you mean to us!”
“’To us’? Come on, don’t make it parasocial. You are… were my fans, but you weren’t my friends,” Harsh to hear, harsher to say: she’d expected it to break the sad little creature.
It didn’t.
“We never meant to be! We like just being your fans… just…” it paused, “If you ever resurface… please let us know,
And we’ll be your fans again.”