Freya watched as Myra’s expression fell, her disappointment palpable in the downturn of her lips and the slump of her shoulders. A strange mixture of emotions flickered within the ancient vampire – a touch of guilt at having rebuffed the girl’s heartfelt offering, mingled with a sense of relief that the situation hadn’t progressed further in that unexpected direction.

  Then, a low chuckle rumbled in Freya’s chest, gradually escating into a soft, melodic ughter that echoed through the antique shop. It wasn't cruel ughter, but rather a bemused amusement at the unexpected turn of events and perhaps, a subtle release of the awkward tension that had filled the room.

  “Oh, Myra,” Freya said, her crimson eyes twinkling with amusement as the ughter subsided. “You looked so crestfallen! Did you… did you actually enjoy the sensation of being… bite, as you mortals so delicately put it?”

  Myra looked up sharply, her initial disappointment repced by a flush of embarrassment. “No!” she excimed, the denial vehement. “Of course not! It was… necessary. For the knowledge. But it wasn’t… enjoyable.” Her brow furrowed slightly, a hint of confusion in her emerald eyes. “Why would you even ask that?”

  Freya smiled, a genuine, almost gentle expression that softened her sharp features. “Because, Myra,” she said, her voice losing its pyful edge and taking on a more thoughtful tone, “despite my nature, despite what I require to sustain myself, I am not a monster who takes pleasure in inflicting discomfort. The act of feeding is… a necessity, not a sport. And while your blood was… surprisingly agreeable, I have no desire to cause you undue distress, especially after all that has transpired between us.” She gestured towards the completed book lying on the nearby table. “We forged an agreement, and you upheld your end, as did I. There is no need for further… sacrifices born of obligation.”

  Myra, still slightly perplexed by Freya's amusement and her unexpected decration, couldn't help but return to a more practical concern. "But... Freya," she asked, her brow furrowed slightly, "when will you get hungry again? If you didn't want to… drink now, when will you need to? And what will you do then?" A flicker of worry crossed her features, a concern for Freya's well-being, however unusual that might seem given their dynamic.

  Freya regarded Myra with a thoughtful expression. "That, little Myra, is a question with a complex answer," she began, leaning back in her chair with an air of ancient wisdom. "Unlike you mortals, whose bodies require regur and frequent sustenance, my metabolism is… different. My needs are less frequent, and the energy derived from a single feeding can sustain me for a considerable amount of time – weeks, even months, depending on the quantity and quality of the blood consumed, and my level of activity."

  She paused, her crimson gaze meeting Myra's directly. "Your blood, as I have mentioned, was… quite potent. It provided a significant amount of sustenance. Therefore, my hunger will likely remain at bay for a good while yet. I do not experience the gnawing emptiness that you would associate with mortal hunger. It is more of a subtle depletion, a gradual dimming of my inner vitality."

  Freya continued, "When that time does eventually come, I will seek out sustenance as I always have. There are… other sources avaible to me. Animals, though their blood is less… satisfying. And occasionally, though less frequently these days, other willing donors. My existence predates your vilge, Myra, and I have learned to navigate the necessities of my nature over centuries."

  A hint of a sad smile touched her lips. "So, you need not worry about my immediate needs. Your generous offer was noted, and appreciated in its sentiment, but it is not a pressing concern for me at this moment." The expnation offered a glimpse into the timeless and often solitary nature of Freya's existence, a world far removed from the immediate needs and concerns of mortal life.

  Without another word, Myra reached for the heavy leather-bound book lying on the table, her movements abrupt and jerky. She clutched it tightly to her chest, her earlier gratitude seemingly evaporated. Her face was tight, her emerald eyes fshing with an emotion Freya couldn't quite pce. Then, with a swiftness that surprised the ancient vampire, Myra turned and strode towards the shop door, pulling it open with a force that made the old wood groan. She didn't look back, didn't offer a parting word, simply vanished into the sunlight outside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  Freya watched her go, a deep furrow creasing her brow. The sudden shift in Myra’s demeanor was perplexing. One moment, she was expressing gratitude; the next, she was storming out in what looked very much like anger. Freya tilted her head, her crimson eyes narrowed in contemption. What had she said? Had she inadvertently offended the girl? Her expnation of her hunger had been straightforward, factual.

  A sigh, ced with a hint of amusement and a touch of bewilderment, escaped Freya’s lips. She watched the empty doorway for a long moment, the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams the only movement in the silent shop. "What a strange mortal," Freya murmured to herself, the ancient wisdom in her voice tinged with genuine bafflement. Mortals were often unpredictable, their emotions a votile and often illogical tempest. Myra, it seemed, was no exception. Freya shook her head slowly. Just when she thought she was beginning to understand the intricacies of this particur mortal, she was once again proven wrong. The fleeting connection they had forged during the transtion now seemed to have frayed, leaving behind a lingering sense of confusion in the quiet solitude of the antique shop.