Freya held Myra's warm, fragile hand, her crimson eyes gazing into the mortal's trusting depths, and a sharp pang of guilt resonated within her ancient heart. Her hand... so warm, so fragile, she thought, a stark contrast to the icy grip of fear that clenched at her whenever Amelia's name surfaced. Myra's unwavering affection was a balm, yet Freya felt the weight of her own darkness, the potential for harm that Amelia represented, a burden she hesitated to share. Myra was still healing, the faint tension in her shoulders, the occasional flicker of her gaze towards her neck, were constant reminders of Freya's near transgression. To introduce the specter of Amelia now, to unravel the tangled threads of her past, felt like casting a dark shadow over this fragile, nascent happiness, a risk of shattering the delicate trust that was just beginning to bloom. No, not yet, Freya resolved silently. She needs to heal, to feel safe, to know that my past will not reach out and harm her.
Amelia… The name tasted like ash on Freya’s tongue, a bitter relic of a life she had fought so fiercely to leave behind. Why must she resurface now, just when I have found… this? This unexpected connection with Myra, this tender affection that felt more real and vital than anything she had known in centuries, was a treasure she guarded fiercely. Revealing Amelia would be like opening a Pandora's Box, unleashing a torrent of history, of ancient betrayals that had no pce in the delicate world they were creating. No, not now, Freya reaffirmed within herself. Let me savor this moment, this feeling of hope and nascent love. The past can wait. For Myra's sake, for our sake, I will keep those shadows at bay, at least for now. She deserves this peace, this happiness. We both do.
Myra watched as Freya, releasing her hand, moved with a subtle air of distraction, perhaps still troubled by their earlier conversation. Freya busied herself straightening a stack of books on a nearby shelf, and as she did, Myra noticed a change in the shop's atmosphere. The comfortable, cozy chaos she usually found had been repced by a more deliberate tidiness, a gentle clearing of clutter and a careful arrangement of the antiques.
“Let me help you with that,” Myra offered, stepping forward with a willingness to assist. She had often helped her grandmother with chores, and the simple act of tidying felt like a comforting way to spend time together.
Freya turned, “Oh, no, my dear. There’s no need. I can manage.” Her tone was a little too quick, a touch flustered, which only piqued Myra’s curiosity.
Myra tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “But you were just dusting those clocks. It seems… particurly tidy in here all of a sudden. Are you expecting someone else?”
Freya’s busied herself with adjusting a ce doily on a nearby table, avoiding Myra’s gaze for a fleeting moment. “Well,” she murmured, her voice a little breathy, “I… I suppose I was anticipating your visits… more often.”
The words hung in the air, a quiet admission that sent a wave of warmth spreading through Myra’s chest. The thought that Freya was tidying the shop, making it more presentable, simply because she knew Myra would be there, was incredibly sweet and endearing. A wide, happy smile bloomed on Myra’s face, and a rosy hue crept up her own cheeks at the unspoken intimacy of Freya’s gesture. The simple act of dusting and arranging suddenly felt imbued with a deeper meaning, a silent preparation for the time they would now be spending together, not just as occasional visitors and shopkeeper, but as something much more profound.
A bittersweet realization washed over Myra. The sudden tidiness of the shop, the anticipation Freya had mentioned – it was likely that Freya had initially expected Amelia’s return, a dreaded confrontation she had been mentally preparing for. And yet, instead of the imposing figure of her past, it was Myra who had arrived, bringing with her not demands or accusations, but love and understanding.
The contrast between the imperious Amelia and the gentle Freya, the creature of the night who harbored such unexpected kindness and vulnerability, struck Myra anew. Here was a being steeped in the shadows, possessing ancient power, yet she was more understanding, more compassionate, than many mortals Myra had encountered. Freya’s willingness to open her heart, despite the pain of her past and the inherent risks of loving a mortal, was a testament to the depth of her character.
Myra’s heart swelled with affection for Freya, this extraordinary woman who defied expectations and embraced love in the face of fear. The image of Amelia, cold and demanding, faded in comparison to the warmth and sincerity radiating from Freya as she subtly prepared her space for Myra’s presence. It was a quiet act of devotion, a silent acknowledgment of the pce Myra now held in her long and often solitary existence.
A wide, genuine smile bloomed on Myra’s face, chasing away any lingering unease. The thought of Freya tidying the shop with her in mind was unbelievably sweet, a tender gesture that spoke volumes more than grand pronouncements ever could. A pyful glint entered her eyes as she took a step closer to Freya, her voice light and teasing. “Oh really, Freya?” she said, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Were you perhaps expecting a… very important guest? Someone who requires perfectly aligned teacups and dust-free bookshelves? I must say, I’m rather fttered.”
She reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from Freya’s cheek, her touch lingering for a moment. “It seems even creatures of the night can be caught preparing for a visitor,” Myra continued, her gaze warm and full of affection. “Though I must confess, I rather like the comfortable chaos of your shop. It has a certain… charm. But knowing you tidied it… for me…” Her voice softened, the teasing lilt repced by a note of genuine tenderness. “Well, that makes even dusty old antiques seem rather special.”
