The familiar creak of the antique shop door seemed to announce Myra's arrival, and as she stepped inside, the usual dim light and comforting scent of aged treasures enveloped her. Freya, who had been dusting a collection of antique clocks, turned towards her, a hesitant but genuine smile gracing her lips. Her crimson eyes, though still carrying a hint of weariness, lit up with a warmth that chased away some of the lingering shadows from the previous night. “Myra,” she murmured, her voice soft with relief, her gaze lingering on the mortal woman as if to assure herself that Myra was truly there.

  “Myra,” Freya said softly, setting aside the feather duster, her brow furrowed with gentle concern. “I wasn’t expecting you until this evening. Are you alright? Why are you here so early?” Her gaze searched Myra’s face, perhaps still carrying the weight of the previous nights' terrifying events and her own profound guilt.

  Myra stepped closer, her heart aching at the weariness she still saw in Freya’s eyes. “I missed you,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, her hand reaching out to gently touch Freya’s arm. “After everything that happened… I was afraid. Afraid that you might… disappear.” The thought of Freya retreating back into her solitary existence, shutting her out once more, was unbearable.

  She hesitated for a moment, then continued, her gaze direct and earnest. “And… and after seeing that woman, Amelia… the way she spoke to you, the way she said she had been searching for you, that she wanted you to return… I was afraid she had somehow taken you away.” The possessive tone of Amelia’s voice, the air of ancient authority that had clung to her, had left a deep impression on Myra, fueling her anxiety.

  “I needed to see you, Freya,” Myra concluded, her fingers tightening gently on Freya’s arm. “To know that you were still here. That… that we were still here.” The unspoken “we” hung in the air between them, a testament to the fragile but precious bond they had forged, a bond that Myra was determined to protect.

  A shadow flickered across Freya’s face at the mention of Amelia’s name, her crimson eyes darkening momentarily. A visible tremor ran through her hand, the one Myra was gently touching. “Ahh… so you overheard,” Freya murmured, her voice low and strained, a hint of the ancient weariness returning to her features. “That woman… that was Amelia.”

  Her gaze flickered around the shop, as if the very air held the echo of Amelia’s imperious voice. “Please, Myra,” Freya said, her tone pleading, “do not speak of her. Not here. Not now. Her name… it is like a curse upon my lips, a shadow that I have tried to outrun for centuries.” The raw emotion in her voice underscored the deep-seated pain and fear that Amelia’s presence evoked.

  Freya quickly shifted the subject, her gaze softening as she looked back at Myra, concern etching lines around her eyes. “You came here so quickly, my dear. You might still be feeling weak from… from st nights. Please, come and sit down. Let me get you something warm to drink.” It was a clear attempt to steer the conversation away from the painful topic of Amelia, a familiar deflection that Myra had come to recognize.

  Myra nodded slowly, a wave of understanding washing over her. She could sense the deep distress that the mere mention of Amelia caused Freya. She knew that pushing for answers now would only cause more pain. For the moment, she would respect Freya’s boundaries, allowing her the space and time she needed to confront her past. The priority now was Freya's well-being and the fragile bond they had just begun to solidify.

  Freya, despite her attempt to steer the conversation towards Myra’s well-being, saw the unspoken questions lingering in the mortal woman’s eyes. She knew Myra was curious, that she likely sensed the weight of history and unresolved conflict that Amelia’s visit had brought crashing into their fragile world. The urge to confide, to share the burden of her past, warred with the ingrained instinct to protect Myra from the darkness that surrounded her.

  A sigh escaped Freya’s lips, a sound heavy with centuries of sorrow. “I know you want to understand, Myra,” she said softly, her gaze meeting Myra’s with a weary resignation. “And perhaps, one day, I will be able to tell you everything. But the memories… they are still too raw, too painful.” The mere thought of reliving that chapter of her long life was enough to send a chill down her ancient spine.

  She hesitated, then continued, her voice gaining a touch more firmness, wanting to address the immediate concern she had heard in Myra’s earlier words. “You are right, my dear. Amelia… she wants me to return. To a life I left behind a very long time ago. A life that… is not for me anymore.” The finality in her tone was clear, a silent decration of where her heart now truly y.

  Taking Myra’s hand, her cool fingers intertwining with the mortal’s warm ones, Freya looked her in the eyes, her gaze sincere and filled with a newfound tenderness. “I will not disappear, Myra. Not now. Not without telling you. The depth of your importance to me goes beyond mere words. Please, believe that.” The promise hung in the air between them, a fragile reassurance in the face of an uncertain future.

  Myra’s heart ached at the visible pain in Freya’s eyes, the reluctance to speak of her past. She understood that some wounds ran too deep to be easily reopened. Yet, a knot of sadness tightened in her chest. She longed to know everything about Freya, to understand the shadows that haunted her, to be a true confidante in every aspect of her long existence.

  But for now, she would respect Freya’s boundaries, trusting in the sincerity of her promise. It was enough to know that Freya wouldn’t leave without a word, that Myra now held a significant pce in her life. The answers about Amelia could wait, for the most important truth had already been spoken: they loved each other, and for now, that was what mattered most.

  Myra nodded slowly, her hand squeezing Freya’s in understanding. The sadness in her heart was still there, a quiet ache of wanting to know more, to fully understand the complexities of Freya’s past. But she also recognized the genuine pain etched on Freya’s face, the palpable reluctance to revisit those old wounds.

  “I understand, Freya,” Myra said softly, her voice filled with empathy. “You don’t have to talk about it if it hurts. I trust you. And I believe you when you say you won’t disappear.” The warmth of Freya’s hand in hers was a tangible reassurance, a silent promise that their connection was real and enduring, at least for now.

  She offered a small, gentle smile. “What matters most is that you’re here, with me.” Her words were a simple affirmation of their present moment, a conscious choice to focus on the love they shared rather than dwelling on the shadows of the past. The mysteries surrounding Amelia could wait. What was important now was the fragile, precious reality of their love, a love Myra was determined to cherish and protect.

  Freya’s grip on Myra’s hand tightened, a silent thank you for her understanding and unwavering support. A small, grateful smile touched her lips, a genuine expression of relief that Myra wasn’t pressing for answers she wasn’t yet ready to give.

  “Thank you, Myra,” Freya murmured, her crimson eyes softening as she looked at the mortal woman. “Your patience… your understanding… it means more to me than you can possibly know.” The weight of her secret, the fear of her past, felt a little lighter knowing that Myra trusted her enough to wait.

  She lifted Myra’s hand to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss against her knuckles, a tender gesture that conveyed the depth of her affection and gratitude. “For now,” Freya continued, her voice low and sincere, “let us simply be. Let us cherish this time together, this… haven we have found in each other’s company.” The unspoken understanding hung between them – the shadows of the past might loom, but for this moment, their love was the only light that truly mattered.

  “Yes,” Myra replied softly, her smile mirroring Freya’s tender expression. The simple word held a wealth of agreement, a shared understanding of their present focus on each other.