A flicker of understanding crossed Freya’s crimson eyes as she absorbed the depth of Myra’s earnest words. There was a raw truth in the mortal’s perspective, a fundamental acceptance of the intertwined nature of joy and pain that resonated with a forgotten part of herself. But instead of yielding, a surge of fierce anger erupted within the ancient vampire.

  The air in the antique shop suddenly grew cold, a bone-chilling draft that had nothing to do with the outside temperature. Shadows seemed to deepen and writhe in the corners of the room, the ancient objects taking on a more menacing aura. Freya’s grip on the back of the armchair tightened until her knuckles turned white. Then, with a swiftness that belied her earlier weariness, she moved.

  Her hand shot out, grasping Myra’s neck with surprising force. Myra gasped, her breath caught in her throat as Freya’s cool, strong fingers tightened around her windpipe. The gentle beauty that had captivated Myra vanished, repced by a visage of cold, ancient power. Freya’s crimson eyes bzed with a primal fury, and her features sharpened, revealing the predatory nature she had so carefully concealed.

  “Do not presume to order me, mortal,” Freya hissed, her voice a low, guttural growl that vibrated with barely contained rage. “You speak of feelings you barely comprehend, of a lifespan so fleeting you cannot fathom the weight of centuries of pain. I have endured betrayals and losses that would shatter your fragile mind. Do not tell me what I must face.” In that moment, the ancient vampire’s true form, the lethal power that y dormant beneath her elegant fa?ade, was terrifyingly revealed, her eyes burning with a clear and unmistakable intent to inflict harm.

  “You speak of embracing pain,” Freya continued, her grip on Myra’s neck unwavering, her voice ced with icy fury. “You see a noble path in willingly inviting suffering. But you do not know the true face of endless pain, the kind that gnaws at the soul for eons, leaving nothing but ash and bitterness. I have walked that path, mortal, and I have learned that survival lies in control, in the careful pruning of every emotion that could leave me vulnerable to such torment again.”

  Her eyes, now narrowed and predatory, held Myra’s gaze with terrifying intensity. “You see a flicker of something you call desire, and you naively believe it can be explored without consequence. You have no understanding of the depths those desires can reach, the darkness they can unleash, the irreparable damage they can inflict. I have seen what unchecked passion leads to, the destruction it leaves in its wake.”

  Freya’s grip tightened infinitesimally, a silent warning. “Do not mistake my earlier… moments of weakness for a change in my fundamental nature. I am a creature of the night, an existence shaped by survival and the avoidance of endless suffering. Your mortal sentiments, your fleeting understanding of emotion, are a dangerous game in my world. One that could very easily end with your demise.” The raw power radiating from her was palpable, a chilling reminder of the vast difference between them and the potential danger Myra had unknowingly invited.

  Fear, sharp and cold, pierced through Myra, but beneath it, a flicker of that earlier unwavering resolve remained. Gasping for breath against Freya’s constricting grip, she forced herself to meet the vampire’s furious gaze.

  “Then… then show me,” Myra choked out, her voice strained and hoarse. “Show me the pain. Show me the darkness you fear so much. Because… because I still believe… that even in the darkness… there can be… something else.”

  Her words were a desperate plea, a final attempt to reach the wounded soul beneath the formidable exterior. Despite the terror gripping her, a strange sense of understanding, of wanting to share Freya’s burden, compelled her. She wasn’t backing down, even in the face of mortal danger, still clinging to the hope of connection amidst the terrifying dispy of Freya’s power.

  As Freya stared into Myra’s defiant, fear-stricken eyes, a subtle shift began to occur. The burning intensity of her anger seemed to waver, the cold fury gradually giving way to a flicker of something akin to surprise, perhaps even… confusion. The raw vulnerability in Myra’s plea, the unwavering insistence on facing the darkness, seemed to have momentarily disarmed her rage.

  Her grip on Myra’s neck loosened, the pressure slowly receding until her fingers fell away completely. Freya stumbled back, as if suddenly disoriented, her gaze flickering between Myra and the open doorway, where the harsh gre of the midday sun spilled onto the threshold.

  An inexplicable pull seemed to draw her towards the light, a reckless impulse overriding her centuries of ingrained caution. She took a hesitant step, then another, until her feet stood just outside the doorway, the intense heat of the sun striking her skin. A visible wince of pain contorted her features, a faint hiss escaping her lips.

  Myra, still gasping for breath and rubbing her sore neck, watched in stunned silence as Freya stood half in shadow, half in the blinding sunlight. “Freya!” Myra cried out, her voice filled with arm. “What are you doing? You’ll be… you’ll be hurt!” The sight of the ancient vampire seemingly drawn to the very thing that could destroy her filled Myra with a sudden wave of fear for Freya’s safety.