A sharp ache resonated in Myra’s chest at Freya’s heartfelt confession, a poignant echo of the impossible situation they found themselves in. The words, though filled with a tenderness that warmed her soul, also underscored the potential for future pain. Yet, beneath that ache, a different sensation bloomed in her heart – a profound sense of connection, a feeling that transcended the vast differences in their lifespans and natures.
It was a feeling that whispered of something significant, something worth cherishing despite the inherent risks. A fragile hope began to unfurl within her, intertwined with a fierce protectiveness towards the ancient being who had so unexpectedly captured her heart. The path ahead was uncertain, shrouded in shadows and illuminated by fleeting moments of light, but in that instant, Myra knew that whatever it held, she didn’t want to face it alone, and apparently, neither did Freya. The aching in her heart was a testament to the depth of her care, and the blossoming warmth was the fragile promise of something beautiful, however long it might st.
Myra’s gaze drifted down to Freya’s hand, still csped in hers. The skin where the sunlight had touched it was marred, a faint but visible burn that served as a stark reminder of Freya’s vulnerability to the day and the precariousness of their connection. A wave of remorse washed over Myra, a pang of guilt for the pain Freya had endured, even though it was a consequence of Myra’s impulsive actions to save her. The sight of the injury, a physical manifestation of their different worlds colliding, grounded the emotional intensity of the moment in a tangible reality.
A thoughtful expression crossed Freya’s face as she followed Myra’s gaze to the faint burn on her hand. It was a minor injury, a fleeting discomfort compared to the potential destruction of full sunlight, but Myra’s concern was evident in her eyes.
“It will heal, Myra,” Freya said gently, her own fingers tracing the edge of the mark. “It takes time, and perhaps a touch of… my own kind of accelerated healing. There are herbs, too, that can soothe such burns, though they are not commonly found in your gardens.” She paused, considering. “But do not fret, little mortal. It is a small price to pay for… well, for everything.” Her words hinted at a deeper meaning, acknowledging the unexpected turn their encounter had taken.
Myra’s eyes widened with a sudden thought, her gaze locking onto Freya’s. “Would… would my blood help it heal faster?” she asked, the words tumbling out in a rush of concern and a lingering echo of their earlier, more intimate exchanges. The idea of offering her blood not as a transaction but as a balm, a source of healing for Freya, felt strangely natural in the wake of their recent vulnerability.
Freya’s eyes softened at Myra’s earnest offer, a hint of tenderness gracing her lips. She gently squeezed Myra’s hand. “My dear Myra,” she murmured, her voice filled with a warmth that belied her usual reserve, “your willingness to offer is… incredibly touching. Truly.”
She paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her features. “And yes,” she admitted, her gaze lingering on the faint burn mark, “your blood does possess certain… restorative properties for beings such as myself. It can indeed accelerate healing, mend injuries with a speed that is impossible for your kind.”
However, a shadow of concern flickered in her crimson eyes. “But, Myra,” she continued, her grip on her hand tightening slightly, “I do not wish to cause you harm. To take enough of your blood to make a significant difference… that is not something I would do lightly. You are not merely a vessel, a source of sustenance. You are…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “…you are more than that to me now.”
Her gaze held Myra’s with a sincerity that was deeply felt. “A small amount, as before… it is one thing. But to deliberately draw enough to heal this minor burn quickly… it is a line I am hesitant to cross. Your well-being is important to me, Myra. I will heal in time. Your kindness is the greatest balm of all.”
A flicker of remorse crossed Freya’s features as she noticed Myra gently touching her own neck, a lingering tenderness from where the vampire’s grip had been. “Myra,” Freya said softly, her voice ced with genuine apology, “I… I am truly sorry if I hurt you. When I… when I felt my control slipping, when I felt the pull of these unfamiliar emotions… I reacted impulsively. I was trying to… to frighten you, to make you understand the danger, to push you away for your own good.”
Her gaze held Myra’s, a vulnerability shining through the crimson depths. “It was a clumsy, foolish attempt, born of fear and a desperate desire to protect us both from what I perceived as an inevitable heartache. Please believe me, Myra, even in that moment of anger, a part of me… the part that is now acknowledging these… feelings… that part could never truly wish you harm. The intent was to scare, not to injure.”
Freya watched Myra carefully, her expression a mixture of hope and trepidation. She knew her actions had been frightening, a stark reminder of the power she wielded and the potential danger of their connection. But she hoped, with a quiet yearning she had long suppressed, that Myra could see past the momentary dispy of primal power to the hesitant, conflicted being beneath.
Myra nodded slowly, her fingers still lightly tracing the sensitive skin of her neck. There was a faint ache there, a tangible reminder of Freya’s strength, but the fear that had gripped her moments ago had rgely dissipated, repced by a deeper understanding of the ancient vampire’s internal struggle.
“I know,” Myra said softly, her gaze meeting Freya’s. “I know you didn’t… truly want to hurt me. You were scared. Just like I was scared. But… even when you had your hand on my throat… I didn’t believe you would.” A small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. “Maybe it was foolish of me, but… I just… I didn’t feel that from you.” Her words were a testament to the connection she felt, a trust that had somehow taken root even in the face of Freya’s raw power.
