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Chapter 57

  Freya listened intently to Myra’s heartfelt confession, her crimson eyes softening with a mixture of understanding and a profound sadness. When Myra finally asked about the nature of her feelings, Freya’s gaze drifted away for a moment, as if peering into the distant echoes of her own long existence.

  “That feeling, Myra,” Freya said, her voice a low, almost mencholic murmur, “it could be… desire.” She paused, a shadow crossing her delicate features. “It is a sensation that was once… very familiar to me. But… it has been so long. So many years spent in solitude, in a world that no longer truly touches me in that way. I have… almost forgotten what it feels like.”

  A wave of sadness seemed to emanate from her, a palpable sense of loss for a part of herself that had been deliberately suppressed. “I have tried, Myra, for centuries, to forget those desires, to suppress them with all my will. The pain and complications they brought… they were too great to bear.” Her voice held a hint of the weariness of ages, the burden of countless forgotten longings.

  Myra’s heart ached at the sadness she perceived in Freya, the sense of a vital part of her being deliberately extinguished. “Why?” Myra asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern. “Why would you try to forget such a… a strong feeling?”

  Freya fell silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the dimly lit shop. The air grew heavy with unspoken emotions, the weight of her past pressing down on them.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Freya spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “Before… before I met you again, Myra, that part of me… the part that felt desire… it was dormant. Locked away. But… since you came to my life… those feelings… they have begun to stir again. Slowly, tentatively… but undeniably.” Her gaze returned to Myra, a complex mix of longing and trepidation in her crimson eyes.

  Myra’s heart went out to Freya, the sadness in her voice resonating deeply within her. The thought of suppressing such a fundamental part of oneself was a heavy one. Stepping closer, Myra reached out and gently touched Freya’s hand, her touch surprisingly firm despite her nervousness.

  “Maybe,” Myra said softly, her gaze earnest and unwavering, “maybe it doesn’t have to be painful this time, Freya.” Her words were simple, yet they carried a profound weight of empathy and a surprising conviction. “If you… if you don’t mind, I… I want to help you. With… with these feelings.”

  The offer was made without hesitation, born from a genuine desire to ease the ancient vampire’s long-held burden. Myra wasn't offering her blood as a mere transaction, but her presence, her empathy, and a willingness to navigate the complexities of desire alongside Freya. It was an unexpected bridge across the vast chasm of their different existences, a testament to the unique and rapidly deepening connection between them.

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