With a slow, deliberate grace that seemed both timeless and utterly captivating, Freya began to unfasten the fastenings of her dark, elegant attire. Her slender fingers moved with a practiced ease, revealing glimpses of pale skin underneath. Myra watched, her breath catching in her throat, an intense curiosity and a flicker of nervous anticipation gripping her. This was a sight few mortals, if any, had ever witnessed, a private unveiling of a being who existed beyond the realm of human experience.
As the st of her garments fell silently to the floor, Freya stood for a fleeting moment, bathed in the soft, diffused light filtering through the curtains. Her form was both ethereal and strikingly real. Her skin possessed a porcein-like quality, smooth and unblemished, with a subtle coolness that seemed to emanate from within. Her limbs were long and slender, possessing a lithe strength that spoke of untold years and effortless power. There was a delicate curvature to her figure, a natural elegance that seemed sculpted by time itself.
Her breasts were high and full, their pale areos a delicate rose hue. A faint, almost imperceptible pulse seemed to beat beneath her skin, a subtle reminder of the ancient, vital essence that flowed through her. There was no artifice, no self-consciousness in her undress, only a quiet acceptance of her own form, a stark and beautiful manifestation of her immortal existence. Myra watched, mesmerized, the sight both breathtaking and deeply intimate, etching itself into her memory with indelible crity.
With a fluid movement, Freya carefully climbed onto the bed, positioning herself beside the still-trembling Myra. The cool touch of her skin against Myra’s sent a fresh wave of shivers through the younger woman.
“Your body is so cold,” Myra murmured, her teeth still chattering slightly. She had hoped for an immediate infusion of warmth, but Freya’s skin, while smooth and strangely comforting in its stillness, possessed a distinct chill. “I… I don’t feel any warmer at all,” she added, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
A soft, melodious ughter bubbled up from Freya, a sound that held a hint of amusement at Myra’s expectation. “My dear Myra,” she chuckled, her crimson eyes twinkling, “did you truly expect a creature who is, for all intents and purposes, eternally… preserved, to radiate the warmth of a living mortal? My blood does not flow with the same fervent heat as yours. My touch will always carry a certain… coolness.”
She gently shifted closer, her cool limbs brushing against Myra’s still-chilled form. “Perhaps,” Freya suggested, a hint of a pyful glint in her eyes, “you require a more… direct transfer of heat. It seems my mere presence is insufficient to thaw your mortal frame.”
