The next morning dawned with a surprising lightness within Myra’s heart, despite the lingering physical aches that served as a constant reminder of the previous nights. The memory of Freya’s tearful confession and their shared embrace filled her with a sense of joyous anticipation. She couldn’t wait to return to the antique shop, to see Freya again, to begin navigating their newfound love in the light of day.

  As she moved about the cottage, her eagerness betrayed itself in her hurried movements. She dressed quickly, a faint smile pying on her lips as she thought of Freya. But her grandmother, seated at the kitchen table and watching her with keen eyes, noticed her haste.

  “Myra, child, what’s the rush?” her grandmother asked gently, her voice carrying a note of curiosity. “You’re up and about so early. Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Her gaze was perceptive, noticing the subtle glow in Myra’s eyes, the nervous energy that seemed to radiate from her.

  Myra paused, a flush rising in her cheeks. She hadn’t quite formuted a believable expnation for her continued visits to the antique shop, especially after her te return the night before. “Oh, Grandma,” she stammered, trying to sound casual, “I just… I wanted to return that old book to Freya, the woman who runs the antique shop. She was kind enough to lend it to me, and I don’t want to keep it too long.”

  Her grandmother’s expression remained thoughtful, her gaze unwavering. “Myra,” she said softly, her voice ced with a gentle authority, “come sit down with me for a moment. There are some things I think we need to talk about.” The casual question had turned into a clear invitation, or perhaps even a gentle command, to address the unspoken concerns that lingered between them.

  Myra’s heart sank slightly. She had hoped to postpone this conversation, to bask in the warmth of her newfound love with Freya for a little longer before facing her grandmother’s inevitable inquiries. The knowing look in her grandmother’s eyes told her that her flimsy excuse about the book hadn’t quite nded. There was a depth of concern there that Myra couldn’t simply brush aside.

  Sighing softly, Myra pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her grandmother at the kitchen table. The morning sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the weight in Myra’s heart. She knew she couldn’t lie outright to her grandmother, not about something that clearly worried her so deeply.

  Her grandmother’s gaze was kind but firm, her eyes searching Myra’s with unwavering intensity. “Myra, dear,” she began, her voice gentle but serious, “I know you said you just went for a walk, but I could see that something was amiss when you returned. You looked pale, troubled. Please, tell me the truth of what happened. Was it… did it involve Freya?” The directness of the question caught Myra off guard, and she knew she couldn’t evade the truth any longer.

  Myra met her grandmother’s gaze, her own eyes filled with a mixture of nervousness and a dawning understanding of the depth of her grandmother’s concern. “Yes, Grandma,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was with Freya. I… I often visit her at the antique shop.”

  A sigh escaped her grandmother’s lips, a sound that spoke of worry and a feeling of being kept in the dark. “Oh, Myra, you keep me so worried. When you didn’t come home…” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken fear hanging heavy in the air.

  Her grandmother’s gaze softened, her hand reaching out to gently hold Myra’s cheek, her touch surprisingly firm despite her age. “Myra, my dear, this is not like you. You’ve always been so diligent, so mindful of my worry. To stay out all night without a word… it’s caused me no small amount of fear. And now, barely recovered, you speak of returning to this Freya? I confess, child, I don’t understand this sudden closeness. Perhaps you should spend less time at this antique shop and more time resting, here at home, where you belong and where I can be sure of your safety.”

  “I’m so sorry, Grandma,” Myra said quickly, reaching across the table to take her grandmother’s hand. “I didn’t mean to cause you any distress. Time just… it got away from me. I promise, I was safe." The conviction in her voice was genuine, a reflection of the trust she now held in the ancient vampire, despite the terrifying events of the previous night.

  Her grandmother’s hand tightened around Myra’s, her gaze still searching. “Myra, be honest with me. What exactly is your retionship with this Freya? You’ve been spending a great deal of time with her tely. Spending both the night and the morning away from home, even baking her bread…” Her grandmother’s gentle prodding revealed a keen awareness of Myra’s recent behavior, her observations piecing together a picture that Myra hadn’t intended to reveal just yet. The unspoken question hung between them: The air thrummed with the unspoken question of what captivated Myra so deeply about the enigmatic woman who owned the antique shop.

  Myra squeezed her grandmother’s hand, her heart aching with the knowledge that she was withholding a significant truth. “Grandma,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “I… I know Freya seems mysterious, and perhaps a little different. But I’ve come to know her, and I truly believe she is a good person. There’s a kindness in her, a deep wisdom that she doesn’t always show on the surface.”

  She thought back to their conversations, the way Freya had patiently deciphered the ancient book, sharing her vast knowledge without any expectation of return. “She’s taught me so much, Grandma,” Myra expined. “About history, about forgotten stories. She sees the beauty in things that others might overlook, and she’s opened my eyes to a world beyond our vilge.”

  Myra recalled the gentle way Freya had tended to her burn, the quiet concern in her crimson eyes. “And she’s been kind to me, Grandma. She’s offered me comfort and companionship when I’ve felt… alone.” She omitted the more recent, terrifying instance of Freya’s “care,” focusing on the moments of genuine kindness and connection.

  She also remembered the thoughtful observations Freya had made about her, the way she had acknowledged Myra’s strength and empathy. “She sees the best in people, I think, even if she doesn’t always express it directly. There’s a loneliness in her, Grandma, and I think… I think she appreciates having someone to talk to, someone who doesn’t judge her.”

  Myra’s voice softened as she concluded, her gaze earnest. “She’s not what she might seem at first gnce, Grandma. There’s a good heart beneath the surface, a soul that has seen much and carries its own burdens. I truly believe that knowing Freya has been a good thing for me.” She hoped her heartfelt words, though carefully curated, would ease her grandmother’s worry and perhaps even sow a seed of understanding.