Her face cleared somewhat as Peter told her this place was haunted. Diana had encountered no ghosts in her life as yet, but she’d been raised to believe in what she now understood was the “Greek pantheon” of Gods. Of course, for Diana, they were not myths and legends but simple truths. She was a daughter of Zeus and had fought the God of War. They existed. Ghosts weren’t a far fetched concept when weighty things like that were everyday fare, and so she simply accepted it. “It could be,” she agreed, because she was no ghost hunter. Unconfirmed at best, but certainly possible.
She brightened further at the mention of Manhattan. Diana had first gone to London with Steve Trevor, and the front of the First World War, but she had not wanted to return to London after he’d died. She’d fled to New York City, and had a soft spot for it thusly. After all, she’d been in NYC before she’d been here. “Themyscira.” It belatedly occurred to her that he wouldn’t have any idea where or what that was. “The island of the Amazons. I do love Manhattan, though.” Diana giggled, a bright and happy sound that seemed fitting somehow in the dim and powerless room.
Her brows came together a bit as Peter continued, not because she took his notion of a tiny tailor seriously, but because the idea of people simply popping in and out of existence was unpleasant. Presumably they’d gone home, but who was to say? “We aren’t dead, are we? Surely not.” Diana looked fairly certain about this... but not entirely, obviously. “I could not possibly have just... died in my sleep.”