Ever since the terrifying dawn that broke after her brutal feeding, Freya had enveloped Myra in a whirlwind of quiet, desperate care. The hours blurred for Myra in a haze of soothing herbal teas, cool compresses on her throbbing wounds, and Freya's constant, watchful presence. The vampire, her usual nocturnal habits abandoned, had stayed by Myra's side throughout the long day, her crimson eyes filled with a remorse so profound it seemed to physically weigh her down. She moved with a gentle reverence, her touch feather-light as she adjusted Myra's pillows or offered sips of the restorative brew.

  The antique shop, usually filled with the quiet rustlings of age, was hushed, the silence broken only by Freya's soft murmurs of concern and the occasional, pained sigh that escaped her lips. As dusk began to paint the sky in hues of vender and rose, Freya's vigince remained unbroken, her guilt a palpable presence in the dimly lit room, a silent promise to atone for the terror she had unleashed.

  As Freya drew a shaky breath, her lips parting as if to finally break the heavy silence that had enveloped the room, Myra gently raised a hand, her touch feather-light on Freya’s forearm. Freya’s eyes, still brimming with unshed tears and the weight of her guilt, flickered down to Myra’s hand, her words catching in her throat.

  “Freya,” Myra said, her voice still weak but carrying a surprising strength, her gaze meeting the vampire’s with unwavering resolve. “Before you say anything… please let me speak first.”

  Freya hesitated, her expression a mixture of surprise and apprehension. She nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on Myra, the unspoken words of apology and expnation hanging in the air between them, momentarily suspended. She seemed to brace herself, a flicker of her old guardedness returning as she waited for Myra to speak.

  Myra took a deep breath, the pain in her neck and shoulder a dull throb, a constant reminder of the previous night’s terror. Yet, her gaze remained steady, her focus solely on Freya. “Don’t push me away, Freya,” she said, her voice filled with a quiet but firm plea. “Please… don’t shut me out again. Not after… after everything.”

  The memory of Freya’s desperate command to leave, the raw fear in her eyes, still lingered in Myra’s mind. She understood the vampire’s instinct to protect, her fear of the darkness within. But Myra also knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within her soul, that she couldn’t bear to be pushed away again, not after the connection they had forged, not after the vulnerability they had shared, even in its terrifying manifestation.

  “We’ll walk through this together, Freya,” Myra continued, her voice gaining a touch more strength, her eyes conveying a fierce determination. “Whatever this… whatever happened st night… we’ll face it as we always have. Together.” She knew the path ahead wouldn’t be easy, that the memory of the attack would forever cast a shadow between them, but she was willing to bear it, willing to navigate the complexities of their retionship.

  “I know you were scared,” Myra said softly, her thumb gently stroking Freya’s arm. “Scared of losing control, scared of hurting me. And you did… you did hurt me, Freya. But I understand. And… and I can bear the pain.” The words were a testament to the depth of her feelings, a quiet acceptance of the inherent dangers that came with loving someone as ancient and powerful as Freya.

  Myra knew, with a sinking feeling, that Freya’s first instinct would likely be to distance herself, to retreat back into her solitary existence, convinced that she was too dangerous, too broken, to be near Myra. But Myra was determined to fight that impulse, to show Freya that her love was stronger than the fear that threatened to tear them apart. She wouldn’t let Freya push her away again. They would face this, the good and the terrifying, side by side.

  A fresh wave of tears welled in Freya’s crimson eyes, her carefully constructed composure finally crumbling under the weight of Myra’s unexpected words. The sheer strength and unwavering forgiveness in the mortal woman’s gaze pierced through the yers of guilt and self-loathing that had consumed her since regaining control.

  “Myra…” Freya’s voice trembled, the single word a choked sob that echoed the turmoil within her. “You… you shouldn’t have to bear this. I am the one who caused you such pain. I am the one who should suffer the consequences, not you.” The injustice of Myra’s willingness to endure her monstrous actions was a crushing weight on her already burdened soul.

  “I am dangerous, Myra,” Freya continued, her voice ced with a desperate plea for Myra to understand the inherent threat she posed. “Last night… that was the truth of what I am. A creature of instinct, capable of such… brutality. How can you stand there, so forgiving, after what I have done?” The chasm between her monstrous actions and Myra’s unwavering kindness felt impossibly wide.

  “I almost… I almost killed you,” Freya whispered, the words a raw admission of her deepest fear realized. “The hunger… it was all-consuming. If I hadn’t… if I hadn’t regained control… you… you would be…” The unspoken word hung heavy in the air, a terrifying testament to the razor’s edge upon which Myra’s life had hung.

  “My instinct is to protect you, Myra,” Freya confessed, her gaze filled with a desperate sincerity. “But the only way I know how to do that now… is to stay away. To remove the danger, which is me, from your life. You deserve safety, happiness… a life free from the shadows and the monsters that lurk within them.” The ingrained fear of her own nature warred fiercely with the burgeoning affection she felt for Myra.

  “I don’t want to hurt you again, Myra,” Freya pleaded, her tears now flowing freely, tracing paths down her pale cheeks. “The thought of ever losing control like that again… of causing you such pain… it is unbearable. Please, understand that pushing you away… it is the only way I know to keep you safe from myself.” The ancient vampire, so powerful and formidable, now stood broken and vulnerable, her fear for Myra eclipsing even her own ancient sorrow.

  Myra reached out, her hand finding Freya’s tear-streaked cheek, her touch gentle despite her own lingering pain. “But Freya,” she said softly, her thumb brushing away a tear, “don’t you see? You did come back. You fought it. You warned me. That’s not a monster. A true monster wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have shown an ounce of remorse.”

  Her gaze held Freya’s, unwavering in its conviction. “You’re scared, I understand that. But I’m not afraid of you, Freya. Not the real you, the one who reads ancient texts and shares stories and looks at me with such… kindness. Last night was terrifying, yes, for both of us. But it doesn’t erase everything else we’ve shared.”

  “Pushing me away won’t protect me, Freya,” Myra insisted, her voice firm but tender. “It will just leave us both alone and hurting. I choose to face this with you, to be here for you, just as you’ve been here for me in your own way. We’re connected now, Freya, in a way that goes beyond just friendship. And I’m not willing to let fear break that.”

  A faint, hopeful smile flickered across Myra’s lips, despite the pallor of her skin. “We’ll learn how to live with this, Freya. We’ll find ways to manage the hunger, to navigate this together. Please… don’t take that choice away from me. Don’t take yourself away from me.”