Freya's heart still ached with a dull, persistent throb, a persistent awareness of its terrifying nature. The lightness she tried to project felt like a fragile mask, barely concealing the lingering shame and fear that clung to her like a shroud. Despite Myra's efforts to create a cheerful mood, a subtle shadow flickered in Freya's crimson eyes as she gnced at Myra's neck, and a deep-seated sadness and sharp regret gripped her. The memory of the terrifying moment when her control had faltered, was a wound that refused to fully heal. Even now, seeing the lingering evidence of her pse, carefully concealed beneath Myra’s scarf, sent a fresh wave of remorse through her. The joy of Myra’s presence was a balm, but the fear of what she had almost done remained a constant, painful undercurrent beneath her carefully constructed facade of cheerfulness.

  She took a step closer, her crimson eyes drawn to the scarf still wrapped around Myra’s neck. A delicate furrow appeared on her brow, her earlier demeanor repced by a gentle worry. “Myra, my dear,” she said softly, her voice ced with a newfound tenderness, “are you still feeling unwell? You kept your scarf on even indoors.” Her gaze lingered on the concealing fabric, her instincts undoubtedly picking up on the truth that Myra was trying to hide.

  Myra reached a hand up to touch the scarf, her fingers tracing the soft wool. “Yes, Freya,” she admitted, her voice a little hesitant. “I… I covered the wound. I didn’t want my grandmother to worry, or the others in the vilge to… ask questions.” The thought of expining the true nature of her injury was still too daunting, the truth too unbelievable.

  Freya’s gaze softened with understanding, her eyes filled with a deep empathy. “May I see?” she asked gently, her voice barely above a whisper, her hand reaching out as if to touch Myra but then hesitating. There was a profound sadness in her expression, a clear acknowledgment of the pain she had caused and the lengths Myra felt she had to go to conceal it.

  With a slow nod, Myra carefully unwound the scarf, letting it fall away from her neck and shoulder. The raw, still-tender marks of Freya’s bites were now visible, angry red against her pale skin. Freya’s breath hitched, her crimson eyes tracing the wounds with a look of utter remorse. “Oh, Myra,” she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears, “I am so terribly sorry. This… this must be so painful.” The weight of her actions settled heavily upon her once more, the visible evidence of her loss of control a stark and painful reminder.

  Myra offered Freya a small, reassuring smile, though a faint wince of discomfort flickered across her face as she moved her neck slightly. “It stings a bit,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. “But it’s… it’s getting better. Really.” She didn’t want Freya to dwell on her guilt, to be consumed by the horror of what had happened. What mattered now was their present connection, the love they had found amidst the darkness. “The most painful part was seeing you so… distressed, Freya,” she added, her gaze meeting the vampire’s with genuine concern. “That was much harder to bear than any physical ache.”

  A glimmer of hope flickered in Freya’s crimson eyes. “Myra,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a hesitant anticipation, “if you don’t mind… would you allow me to try… to heal you? It is… a part of what I am. Not the hunger, but… the ability to mend.” There was a vulnerability in her request, a desire to atone for the harm she had caused, to use her ancient powers for good instead of destruction.

  Myra looked at Freya, her heart filled with a mix of trust and curiosity. “Heal me?” she echoed, a slight furrow in her brow. “Like… with magic?” Her knowledge of the supernatural was still limited, her understanding pieced together from whispered legends and her own recent, startling experiences.

  Freya offered a small, hesitant smile. “Something akin to that. It… it requires a closer connection. Not the violent kind from that night, but… a gentle exchange.” She paused, a shadow of sadness crossing her features. “A balm might soothe the surface, but this… this could mend the deeper wounds.”

  "Will it… will it hurt?" Myra asked softly, her fingers brushing against Freya's as they walked.

  Freya turned, her crimson eyes filled with reassurance. "No, my dear," she promised, her voice gentle. "It will be… a different sensation. Perhaps a little strange at first, but not painful. I would never intentionally cause you more harm, Myra. You must believe that." Her sincerity was palpable, washing away some of Myra's apprehension. The thought of being healed by Freya, of this intimate exchange of her otherworldly energy, felt significant, a tangible symbol of their unique and evolving bond.

  Myra considered for a moment, the idea both intriguing and a little unnerving. But her trust in Freya had deepened in the face of the previous night’s terror and its aftermath. “Okay,” she agreed, her voice filled with a quiet confidence. “If you think it will help, Freya, then yes. Please try.”

  Reaching the velvet curtain, Freya paused, turning to face Myra with a gentle solemnity. "Please, know that this is done with only the purest intention," she murmured, her crimson eyes filled with sincerity. "My only desire is to ease your pain and to mend what I have broken." Her words were a soft reassurance, a promise of care and respect that eased any lingering apprehension Myra might have felt. With a gentle smile, Freya then drew the heavy curtain aside, inviting Myra to step into the private sanctuary beyond.

  Freya’s eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Myra,” she whispered, her hand reaching out to gently guide Myra towards the back of the shop. “Come. My private room… it will be a more comfortable and private space for this.” The heavy velvet curtain that separated the main shop from Freya’s living quarters seemed to beckon them into a realm of ancient secrets and deepening intimacy.