Despite the lighthearted banter, a subtle undercurrent of mencholy still clung to Myra’s happy tone. She looked at Freya, her smile tinged with a poignant awareness of the deeper, unspoken emotions between them. “But Freya,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to where her hand still rested near Freya’s. “What about… the other feeling? The one in your heart? Is there a balm for that too? One I could… help with?” Her words carried a hopeful yearning, a desire to extend her care beyond the physical and touch the ancient sorrow she sensed within Freya.

  Freya chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound in her chest. “Ah, Myra,” she said, her crimson eyes twinkling with amusement and a touch of something deeper. “That particur ache… I fear your little jar of garden herbs might be insufficient. You would need a balm the size of this shop, perhaps even the entire vilge, to soothe the weight of centuries.” The jest was light, but it carried an underlying truth about the vastness of her past and the complexity of her enduring emotions.

  Then, Freya’s expression softened. She reached out and gently took Myra’s hand, guiding it to rest over her chest, directly above where her heart would beat if it still possessed that mortal function. The cool fabric of her gown separated their skin, but Myra could feel the faint, steady thrum beneath. Freya looked into Myra’s eyes, her gaze now earnest and sincere. “But you are right, Myra,” she said quietly. “There are other feelings stirring… feelings I had long forgotten, buried beneath yers of time and self-imposed isotion.”

  A soft smile touched Freya’s lips. “This encounter with you, Myra… it has been… unexpectedly enjoyable. It is a sensation akin to warmth after a long winter, a melody heard after years of silence. It is… connection. A simple, yet profound feeling that I had convinced myself was no longer within my reach. You have reminded me of its existence, and for that… I am grateful.”

  Her fingers tightened gently around Myra’s hand, holding it firmly against her chest. “This… this is one of those feelings, Myra,” Freya confessed, her gaze holding hers with an intensity that spoke volumes. “Enjoyment. A simple pleasure in shared company, in ughter, in kindness. It is a fragile thing, perhaps, in one such as I. But it is… real. And it is something I had forgotten how to feel.”

  A wave of warmth spread through Myra’s chest as Freya held her hand against her heart, the faint thrum a tangible reminder of the ancient life force within. Hearing Freya acknowledge the enjoyment she found in their connection, the admission that it was a forgotten feeling rediscovered, sent a surge of hope through Myra.

  “Then… then let’s not forget it again, Freya,” Myra said softly, her own hand gently pressing against Freya’s over her heart. Her eyes met Freya’s, filled with a quiet determination and a burgeoning sense of shared intimacy. “Let’s hold onto these feelings, both the light ones and the ones that might be a little more… complicated. Maybe, together, we can find a way to make even the heavier ones a little less burdensome.” The honesty in Freya’s confession had emboldened her, strengthening her resolve to nurture the fragile connection that had blossomed between them.

  “Freya,” Myra began, a slight hesitation in her voice, “I won’t be able to come by tomorrow night. My grandmother… well, she’s having a few friends over for tea. A bit of a social gathering.”

  Freya’s expression remained neutral, her gaze steady. “Of course, Myra,” she replied calmly. “You are free to come and go as you please. Your life is yours to live.”

  A flicker of disappointment, quickly masked, crossed Myra’s face. She had hoped for a different reaction, a hint of acknowledgment of her absence. Gathering her courage, she asked softly, her eyes searching Freya’s, “Will you… will you miss my company?”

  A subtle softening touched Freya’s features, a fleeting glimpse of the vulnerability Myra had glimpsed before. “Myra,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful, “your presence… has become something I… look forward to. But I would not wish to hold you back from your life, from your family and friends. Your world is vibrant and full, and I… I reside in the shadows. I would not have you neglect your own light for my sake.”

  A bittersweet smile touched Myra’s lips. Freya’s answer, while perhaps not the outright admission she had secretly hoped for, was honest and held a certain tenderness. She understood Freya’s reluctance to pull her away from her own life, a selfless gesture tinged with the inherent limitations of their connection.

  “I know,” Myra said softly, her hand gently squeezing Freya’s. “But… knowing you’ll miss me a little… that’s enough.” A warmth spread through her chest, a comforting reassurance that their bond was indeed deepening, even if it was unfolding in unexpected ways. “I’ll be back the night after,” she promised, her eyes meeting Freya’s with a renewed sense of anticipation.

  As the soft click of the antique shop door signaled Myra’s departure, leaving Freya once more enveloped in the quiet stillness of her domain, the vampire’s thoughts turned inward, echoing Myra’s parting words. “Knowing you’ll miss me a little… that’s enough.”

  A faint mencholy settled over Freya. Myra’s simple statement, filled with such a poignant mixture of longing and understanding, resonated deeply within her. It was a mirror reflecting her own emotions, the undeniable pull she felt towards the vibrant mortal. And with that reflection came the sharp sting of her ancient fear.

  This was the very outcome I had feared, Freya thought, her crimson eyes gazing unseeingly into the shadows. The more I allow myself to become attached, the deeper this connection grows… the greater the eventual loss will be. For her, a fleeting sorrow in the span of her mortal life. For me… an echoing emptiness that will stretch across the endless centuries to come. The joy Myra brought, the warmth of her unexpected affection, was a precious gift, but it also carried the inherent threat of a future pain that Freya knew all too well.