The moon cast long, silver shadows as Myra and Freya walked along the quiet vilge road. The silence between them was thick, heavier than the usual comfortable quiet they often shared. Myra’s mind was a whirl of unanswered questions, the image of Freya’s uneasy expression and the mysterious letter pying on repeat. She longed to break the silence, to ask what was troubling the vampire, but a knot of nervousness tightened in her stomach. She knew so little of Freya’s long past, the intricate web of retionships and events that spanned centuries. What if the letter held secrets that would create distance between them? The anxiety of the unknown gnawed at her, each step taking her further from the warm intimacy they had shared and closer to the unsettling uncertainty of Freya’s history.
As they reached the familiar outskirts of the vilge, Myra and Freya paused, turning to face each other in the soft moonlight. Before either of them could speak, a group of figures emerged from the shadows of the surrounding trees, their footsteps crunching on the gravel road. Myra’s heart leaped into her throat – it was Gareth and several of his burly companions.
A wave of shock and apprehension washed over her. Without thinking, she instinctively moved slightly, positioning herself almost imperceptibly between Gareth’s approaching group and Freya, a subtle attempt to shield the vampire from their direct view without making her protectiveness too obvious. Her mind raced, trying to anticipate Gareth’s intentions and how to navigate this unexpected and potentially dangerous encounter.
Gareth’s voice, ced with a false joviality, broke the tense silence. “Oh, Myra! Fancy meeting you here. And you have company this evening, I see.” His eyes flickered towards Freya, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “How are you doing this fine night, Myra?”
Myra’s reply was tight, her tone deliberately casual. “I’m well, Gareth. Just… taking a walk.” She kept her stance subtly positioned, hoping to keep Gareth’s focus on her. Gareth chuckled, a sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Indeed? A bit te for a stroll, wouldn’t you say? I’ve only just returned myself. Had to make a te delivery of some timber to the next vilge over. Keeps a man busy, this work.” His gaze lingered on Freya for a moment longer, a hint of something calcuting in his expression before he turned back to Myra.
Gareth’s companions, a boisterous bunch, sauntered closer, one of them spping Gareth on the back with a hearty ugh. “Well, look who it is! Myra!” he called out, his voice booming in the night air. Another chimed in, elbowing Gareth in the ribs with a sly grin. “Still haven’t made an honest woman of her yet, Gareth? You two have been thick as thieves since you were knee-high!” A chorus of chuckles rippled through the group, their jovial tone grating against Myra’s mounting unease. The casual, almost possessive way they spoke of her and Gareth as a childhood pairing sent a wave of irritation through her, and she instinctively moved a fraction closer to Freya.
A knot of anxiety tightened in Myra’s chest. She gnced sideways, a fleeting, worried look directed at Freya. What must Freya be thinking, witnessing this crude dispy, this possessive cim over her? Myra had no idea how Freya was reacting, her face obscured by the dim moonlight and Myra’s own protective positioning. Was Freya offended? Or perhaps even… threatened? The uncertainty of Freya’s reaction only amplified Myra’s discomfort and her desperate desire to diffuse the situation quickly.
Myra forced a strained smile at Gareth and his friends. “We were just saying goodnight,” she interjected, her tone firm but still trying to maintain a sembnce of politeness. “It’s te, and we should both be heading home.” She subtly emphasized the “we,” trying to establish a clear separation from Gareth’s presumptions. Her gaze flickered back towards Freya for a brief moment, a silent plea for understanding passing between them.
The boisterous ughter of Gareth’s friends continued, their attention now piqued by the veiled presence behind Myra. They began to jostle each other, craning their necks to get a better look. “Come on, Myra, who’s your mysterious friend?” one called out, his voice thick with pyful curiosity. Another, finally catching a clearer glimpse of Freya in a momentary shift of Myra’s position, let out a low whistle. “Good heavens, Gareth! Who is this beauty you’ve been hiding from us?” A collective murmur of appreciation rippled through the group, their crude remarks and open admiration making Myra’s discomfort deepen into outright arm. Their eyes, fueled by btant curiosity, lingered on Freya, their words echoing in the still night air, oblivious to the tension they were creating.
“We’ve never seen such a vision in our vilge before,” one of Gareth’s friends decred loudly, his gaze fixed on Freya, admiration and btant curiosity mingling in his eyes. Another chimed in, echoing the sentiment, “Indeed! Who is she, Myra? Where has she been hiding?” Even Gareth, despite his initial attempt at casualness, couldn’t suppress his own curiosity any longer. He peered around Myra, his eyes openly admiring Freya’s ethereal beauty, a hint of surprise and perhaps even envy flickering across his features. Freya, for her part, remained silent and still, an enigmatic figure standing in the shadows, observing the unfolding scene with an unreadable expression. The boisterous attention of the men seemed to roll off her, as if she existed on a different pne, detached from their crude admiration.
Myra’s grip tightened subtly on the edge of Freya’s cloak, a silent, protective gesture. She forced a smile, trying to appear casual despite the rising anxiety within her. “This is a friend of mine,” she stated simply, her tone firm, leaving no room for further prying. “She is just passing through.” She deliberately kept her answer vague, hoping to dissuade their intrusive curiosity and bring the unwanted encounter to a swift end. Her priority was Freya’s safety and her desire to remove them from this uncomfortable and potentially dangerous situation.
One of Gareth’s more emboldened companions stepped forward, a wide, slightly tipsy grin on his face. “Well, your friend is welcome to join us for a drink at the tavern, Myra!” he offered loudly, gesturing vaguely towards the vilge. “We’re just winding down after a long day’s work. Always room for another pretty face!” His words were meant to be jovial, but there was an underlying presumption and a ck of respect that made Myra’s stomach clench. The invitation, directed at Freya as if she were an object of their amusement, felt like a btant intrusion.
Another of Gareth’s companions, his eyes still lingering on Freya, chimed in with a suggestive smirk. “Aye, what’s her name, Myra? Maybe she’d like to get to know some of the local ds a bit better.” A third man, emboldened by the group’s collective curiosity added with a crude wink, “Hold on now, boys, let’s not scare her off all at once. Plenty of time for introductions, eh?” Their words, ced with presumptuousness and a clear ck of regard for Freya’s personal space or wishes, made Myra’s jaw tighten with frustration and a growing sense of protectiveness.
A surge of anger finally broke through Myra’s carefully constructed composure. “That’s enough!” she snapped, her voice rising sharply, cutting through their boisterous banter. Her eyes fshed with a fierce protectiveness as she gred at Gareth and his companions. “She is my friend, and she is not interested in joining your drinking games or getting to ‘know’ any of you better. You have no right to speak to her like that.” Her outburst, though unexpected, was fueled by a deep protectiveness for Freya and a fierce resentment of their crude and disrespectful behavior.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Myra continued, her voice still trembling slightly with indignation, “we were just saying goodnight. Perhaps you all should be heading to that tavern before it closes.” She subtly pced a hand on Freya’s arm, a silent indication that they were leaving, her gaze daring Gareth or any of his friends to try and stop them. The protective fire in her eyes was a clear warning – they would not tolerate their unwelcome attention any longer.
Gareth’s friends, taken aback by Myra’s sudden and fierce reprimand, exchanged sheepish gnces. “Alright, alright, no need to get your knickers in a twist, Myra,” one mumbled, holding up his hands in a pcating gesture. Another chimed in, “Yeah, no harm meant. Just being friendly.” With a final lingering look at Freya, Gareth nodded slowly. “Fine, Myra. We’ll head on to the tavern then. But you make sure you come by next time, alright?” Gareth’s companions turned and, their boisterous energy slightly subdued, continued down the road towards the vilge, their voices gradually fading into the night. While his friends walked ahead, Gareth stayed back, wanting to prolong his conversation with Myra.
