Lyra was right; the vagueness of their answers chafed at Rosario. She frowned, brows pressed together with a deep furrow. "Things that mean something to people," she repeated, "like... myths and legends. And saints. And you don't stay dead, because... what, your story's still out there and something gotta fill the space?"
It didn't make any sense. Belief didn't have any bearing on reality. Reality was objective, it was grounded in scientific laws and mathematical constants. The Earth was an oblate spheroid that revolved around the Sun and no amount of screaming from the Catholic Church had been able to make it otherwise, just like no amount of prayers or magical thinking could disappear a very real tumour.
Except Archer had been able to heal Ricky just by laying hands on him. And the woman in the forest...
Rosario shook her head in frustration. "But then, why doesn't everyone know about you?"