A slow smile spread across Freya’s lips, a knowing glint appearing in her crimson eyes as Myra recounted the descriptions. “Yes… yes, I believe I have a sense of what these might be, as they are known in this… more modern age,” she mused, her voice a low murmur. “Their names have changed, of course, adapted to the vernacur of different times and regions, but the essence of their nature remains.”
Her gaze met Myra’s, and a hint of something akin to eagerness flickered within her. “In fact,” Freya announced, pushing herself gracefully from the bookshelf, “I believe I could guide you to them. The descriptions are quite specific. I am… willing to accompany you to the pces where these pnts might still thrive.”
Overwhelmed with a sudden surge of hope and gratitude, Myra reached out impulsively and grasped Freya’s hand, her grip tight with excitement. “Oh, Freya, would you? That would be wonderful! Let’s go now, then!” She began to pull Freya towards the shop door, her eagerness overriding any lingering apprehension.
But Freya’s feet remained rooted to the spot. She gently but firmly resisted Myra’s pull, a wry smile pying on her lips. “My dear Myra,” she said, her voice ced with amusement, “as touched as I am by your enthusiasm, I must remind you of a rather significant constraint. It is the height of noon. The sun, as you may have noticed, is… rather intense.” She gestured towards the bright light streaming through the doorway. “Direct exposure for any length of time would be… exceedingly detrimental to my well-being. My assistance in this endeavor will have to wait until the cloak of night offers its more accommodating embrace.” Myra’s eagerness had momentarily eclipsed the fundamental differences in their existence.
The realization hit Myra like a physical blow, momentarily eclipsing her excitement. The simple act of stepping out into the sun, something she took for granted every day, was a dangerous and forbidden act for Freya. The thought brought a sudden wave of understanding, a glimpse into the limitations of the ancient vampire’s existence. Freya, despite her power and knowledge, was bound to the shadows, her world perpetually veiled in twilight or darkness.
A pang of empathy, sharp and unexpected, resonated within Myra. She thought of all the years Freya had spent within the confines of the antique shop, surrounded by the ghosts of the past, unable to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin or walk freely under the open sky. It was a solitary existence, dictated by a fundamental vulnerability to the very light that sustained life for mortals. The casual ease with which Myra had offered to leave immediately now felt incredibly insensitive, a stark reminder of the vast chasm separating their worlds.
A wave of guilt washed over Myra. She loosened her grip on Freya’s hand, her exuberant expression fading into one of genuine remorse. “Oh, Freya,” she murmured, her voice filled with heartfelt apology. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think. Of course, the sun… I was so caught up in the hope of finding the herbs, I completely forgot about… about your limitations.”
She looked at Freya with newfound consideration, her initial excitement repced by a quiet understanding of the sacrifice the vampire was offering. Even within the constraints of night, venturing out to search for these specific herbs would be an effort, a willingness to help that transcended their initial agreement. Myra felt a deeper appreciation for Freya’s offer, now understanding the true extent of the concession she was making. The shared hope of healing her grandmother now carried a weight of mutual understanding and a newfound sensitivity to the profound differences in their lives.
