Freya watched Myra’s serene expression as she sipped the tea, a faint smile gracing her own lips. “I am… gd you find it agreeable, Myra,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “It has been a considerable time since I st prepared such a concoction. The ritual itself… it evokes echoes of a long-forgotten past.”

  As Myra took another appreciative sip, a slight flush began to creep up her neck and across her cheeks. Her brow furrowed in slight confusion, and she pced the teacup down on a nearby table. “Freya,” she said, her voice a little breathless, “I… I feel rather warm. Almost… hot.” She fanned herself lightly with her hand, her emerald eyes wide with a hint of concern. “Is this normal? Did you put something else in the tea?”

  Freya’s crimson eyes sharpened, her earlier gentle demeanor instantly repced by a focused intensity. She stepped closer to Myra, her gaze scrutinizing her. “Hot?” she repeated, her brow furrowing. “Where do you feel this heat? Are you experiencing any other symptoms? A cough? A headache?” Her tone shifted to one of genuine concern. “Why, Myra, do you believe you might be unwell?” Her centuries of observing the fleeting nature of mortal health instilled in her a swift recognition of potential ailments. The possibility that Myra might be falling ill was a genuine concern, especially after the recent episodes of bloodletting.

  Myra shook her head slightly, a bemused expression on her face. “No, I don’t feel… sick, exactly,” she said, trying to articute the strange sensation. “It’s not like a fever. It’s more… an inner warmth. A tingling… energy. It’s odd, but not entirely unpleasant.”

  Freya’s brow remained furrowed with concern, but the tension in her posture eased slightly. “A strange warmth… tingling energy,” she repeated, considering Myra’s words. “Perhaps the herbs are having an unexpected effect on your mortal physiology. Would you care for more of the tea? Or perhaps a cup of something cooler?” She gnced around the dimly lit shop, her mind searching for anything that might offer relief.

  Suddenly, Myra’s fingers began to work at the buttons of her dress. Her cheeks were flushed a deeper shade of red now, and a slightly dazed look came into her eyes. She shrugged off her coat, letting it fall to the floor, and then reached for the fastening at her neckline.

  Freya’s crimson eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of arm repcing her earlier concern for illness. “Myra!” she excimed, her voice sharp with a hint of panic. “What are you doing? Are you truly feeling that overheated?” Her gaze darted around, as if searching for a rational expnation for this sudden disrobing. The memory of Myra’s earlier, equally unexpected, act of undressing fshed through her mind, adding to her current bewilderment.