A sharp pang of hurt shot through Myra at Freya’s cold dismissal, the words nding like shards of ice against her hopeful heart. The warmth of their recent connection seemed to evaporate in the face of Freya’s sudden withdrawal. It felt like a cruel rejection, a swift smming of a door that had only just begun to creak open.

  Despite the sting of Freya’s words, a stubborn resolve ignited within Myra. She couldn’t reconcile the kindness and vulnerability Freya had shown with this abrupt and distant demeanor. The idea of simply walking away, of allowing their connection – however strange and nascent – to wither and die felt wrong, a capitution she wasn’t ready to make.

  Taking a deep breath, Myra refused to let Freya’s coldness extinguish the flicker of hope that still burned within her. The journey to her grandmother’s healing had been fraught with challenges, but she hadn’t given up then, and she wouldn’t give up now. There was something significant between them, she felt it in her very core, and she wasn’t willing to let Freya’s fear or regret be the final word.

  Myra’s voice, though tinged with hurt, held a surprising steadiness. “Freya,” she said, her tone firm despite the trembling in her chest. “I understand that’s how you see it. A deal. An exchange. But what about… what about everything else?”

  She took a step closer, her gaze unwavering despite Freya’s turned back. “The ughter, the stories, even… even the kiss. Did all of that mean nothing? Were those just… fleeting pses for you?” Myra’s words were a direct challenge to Freya’s attempt to reduce their connection to a mere transaction.

  “You said yourself that those feelings were starting to come back,” Myra continued, her voice filled with a quiet determination. “And I… I felt them too. Something real. Maybe it is complicated, maybe it is scary, but that doesn’t mean it should just be… dismissed.” She refused to let Freya retreat behind a wall of cold detachment without at least acknowledging the connection they had shared.

  Freya remained still for a long moment, her back a rigid line. The silence in the antique shop stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Myra’s earnest words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the dismissive tone Freya had adopted. Finally, she turned slowly, her crimson eyes meeting Myra’s with a complex mix of emotions – regret, a flicker of something akin to pain, but still overid with a carefully constructed distance.

  “Myra,” she said, her voice softer now, but still carrying a note of caution, “what you felt… what I might have… allowed myself to feel… it was unwise. A momentary indulgence that threatens to blur lines that are best kept distinct. Our worlds are too different, our paths destined to diverge. To pursue this… this ‘discovery’ you speak of would only lead to heartache for you, and… complications I am no longer willing to entertain.”

  Her gaze held a plea, a silent urging for Myra to understand the inherent dangers of their connection. “Please, Myra. For your own well-being, accept that our arrangement is concluded. Cherish the health of your grandmother, and return to your life. Leave the shadows and the creatures that dwell within them to their own existence.” Her words, though seemingly firm, carried a subtle undercurrent of weariness, the resignation of one who had learned hard lessons across the centuries.

  “But why don’t you want to stop it, Freya?” Myra pleaded, her voice trembling slightly but holding firm. “You say it’s unwise, that it will lead to heartache. But isn’t that just… part of feeling? The good and the bad, the joy and the pain? If you only choose the easy, painless emotions, aren’t you missing out on… everything?”

  She stepped closer, her eyes searching Freya’s, trying to penetrate the carefully constructed wall of indifference. “You said you had buried these feelings for so long because of the pain they caused. But maybe… maybe running from pain means running from the good things too. Maybe the joy isn’t possible without the risk of hurt. Isn’t that just… being alive?”

  Myra’s words, though simple, carried a profound truth, a perspective rooted in the mortal experience of embracing the full spectrum of emotions, however challenging. She couldn’t fathom a life lived in constant emotional suppression, a guarded existence devoid of the potential for both great joy and profound sorrow.

  “We can’t just pick and choose what we feel, can we?” Myra continued, her voice gaining strength. “These feelings, whatever they are, they’re here now. For both of us. Trying to pretend they don’t exist, trying to push them away… doesn’t that just make them stronger in the end? Isn’t it better to… face them? Together?”

  Her gaze held a mixture of vulnerability and a surprising courage. She wasn’t dismissing the potential for pain, but she was arguing for the value of experiencing the full breadth of human – or perhaps even immortal – emotion, even if it meant facing discomfort and the risk of heartache. The connection they had found, however unexpected and unconventional, felt real to her, and she wasn’t willing to let fear dictate its ending.