As the afternoon shadows stretched long across the antique shop floor, Myra’s gaze drifted towards a small, unassuming cabinet hanging on the wall, nestled amongst an array of forgotten trinkets. Her eyes settled on a tiny, intricately carved picture frame. Drawn closer by an inexplicable curiosity, she peered at the faded image within.
The painting depicted Freya, younger somehow, though still bearing that timeless elegance. She was adorned in rich, noble attire, silks and velvet hinting at a life of privilege in a bygone era. Standing beside her, almost radiating a vibrant joy, was another woman of breathtaking beauty. Her smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with a captivating allure that seemed to leap off the aged canvas. There was a seductive quality to her beauty, an undeniable magnetism that drew Myra’s gaze.
Yet, despite the apparent happiness of the woman beside her, Freya’s expression held a subtle but unmistakable sadness. Her eyes, even in the faded paint, seemed to carry a deep mencholy, a hint of a sorrow that belied the outward appearance of prosperity. It was a poignant contrast, a silent story etched in the delicate brushstrokes of a long-forgotten artist. Myra felt a pang of curiosity, a desire to know the tale behind that wistful gaze.
She lingered for a moment longer, her mind piecing together fragments of Freya’s stories, wondering if this beautiful, smiling woman held a key to the ancient vampire’s quiet sorrow. Was this a loved one lost to the relentless march of time, a cherished memory that still cast a shadow over her immortal existence? The painting seemed to hold a secret, a glimpse into a past that was both alluring and heartbreaking.
Suddenly, Freya’s voice, soft but clear, broke through Myra’s contemption. “Myra,” she said gently, her tone indicating that the long wait was over. “The light has faded. It is time.”
Startled, Myra quickly took one st gnce at the painting, the image of the smiling woman and Freya’s sad eyes imprinted in her mind. With a hurried movement, she carefully pced the small picture frame back in its spot on the cabinet wall, a sense of unspoken understanding lingering within her.
Turning towards Freya, who stood patiently by the door, a shawl of dark, velvety fabric draped over her shoulders, Myra nodded. The quest for the healing herbs had begun, venturing out into the embrace of the night, carrying with them the weight of ancient knowledge and the echoes of a forgotten past. The antique shop, bathed in the dim light of dusk, seemed to hold its breath as they stepped out into the cool night air.
