Myra’s breath hitched in her throat as she finally reached the still figure lying near the rocky outcrop. A desperate energy surged through her, overriding the exhaustion that had threatened to consume her. She stumbled the st few steps, her feet catching on the slick, uneven ground, but she scrambled forward, propelled by a primal fear. "Freya!" she cried out again, her voice raw and strained, the sound swallowed by the wind. The sight of Freya’s unnatural stillness sent a jolt of pure terror through Myra, a fear that cwed at her heart with icy talons.
Reaching Freya, Myra's legs gave way, and she fell to her knees, her heart a tempest of frantic beats. “Freya! Freya, please!” she cried, her voice choked with sobs as she gently shook the still form. There was no response, no flicker of her crimson eyes, no sign of recognition. The silence was deafening, broken only by the relentless drumming of the rain and Myra's desperate pleas.
Tears streamed down Myra’s face, mingling with the rain that continued to sh down relentlessly. She reached out a trembling hand and touched Freya’s skin. Usually cool to the touch, now it felt armingly cold, a deep, unnatural chill that sent a fresh wave of panic coursing through Myra. It was the coldness of something not merely sleeping, but something… fading.
Relief at finding Freya warred with a terror so profound it threatened to paralyze her. To see the usually strong and vibrant vampire so still and unresponsive sent a sickening lurch through Myra’s stomach. She cradled Freya’s head in her p, her arms wrapped tightly around her, as if her own warmth could somehow bring her back, as if her mortal touch could reignite the immortal fme within Freya.
Time seemed to stretch into an agonizing eternity as Myra held Freya, rocking her gently, whispering her name over and over, begging her to wake, to open those mesmerizing eyes and banish this terrifying stillness. The storm showed no signs of abating, the wind and rain continuing their relentless assault, and the cold was seeping into both of them, chilling Myra to the bone and deepening the unnatural cold emanating from Freya. Myra knew they couldn’t stay exposed on the mountaintop much longer. She had to find shelter, and fast. Each passing moment felt like a precious breath slipping away.
With a surge of desperate strength, fueled by adrenaline and sheer will, Myra tried to lift Freya, but the vampire’s seemingly lifeless form was surprisingly heavy, far beyond Myra’s ability to carry for any distance. Frustration and fear mingled in her tears, blurring her vision and making the already treacherous terrain even more dangerous. She had to think, had to find a way to protect them both. Her mind raced, desperately searching for any memory of the surrounding ndscape, any sign of refuge against the unforgiving elements.
Scanning the darkness through the rain-blurred vision, Myra’s eyes caught sight of a dark, indistinct shape nestled amongst the rocks a short distance away. It looked like some kind of abandoned structure, a small, dipidated shelter of sorts, its darkened entrance a sliver of promise against the storm. Hope, fragile but persistent, flickered within Myra’s chest.
With renewed determination, Myra managed to half-drag, half-support Freya towards the makeshift refuge, her muscles screaming in protest, her every movement a testament to her unwavering resolve. It was a small, stone structure, its roof partially colpsed, allowing rivulets of rainwater to seep through, but it offered some protection from the direct onsught of the storm and the biting wind. The rough stone scraped against Myra's skin, but she barely registered the discomfort, her focus solely on getting Freya to safety and out of the reach of the merciless storm.
Hauling Freya inside, Myra id her gently on the retively drier ground, the rough stone floor still cold beneath her, a stark reminder of the unforgiving mountain. The darkness within the shelter was thick, the only sound the rhythmic drumming of the rain on the remaining sections of the roof, but it offered a small measure of relief from the wind and rain. The air inside was damp and smelled of mildew and decay, but it was shelter nonetheless.
Kneeling beside Freya, her knees sinking into the damp earth floor, Myra wrapped her arms around her again, pulling her close, desperate to share what little warmth she had, to feel the faintest sign of a heartbeat against her own. Her heart ached with fear, a raw, visceral pain, and a fierce determination to see Freya awaken, to see those crimson eyes open once more and look at her with the familiar intensity she had come to cherish. She would stay by her side, no matter what, until those crimson eyes opened once more, even if it took the entire endless night. Myra pressed her lips against Freya's cold forehead, a silent plea for her return.
Within the dimly lit confines of the abandoned shelter, shielded from the relentless rain that continued its furious assault outside, Myra had a clearer view of Freya’s still form. For the first time, she saw the vampire’s eyes completely closed, the intense, captivating fire that usually burned within them extinguished, leaving her face strangely vulnerable and unnervingly death-like. In the soft, filtered light that managed to penetrate the cracks in the crumbling stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows, Freya’s features appeared serene, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil Myra knew she had been experiencing. A profound sadness washed over Myra, seeing such a powerful being rendered so helpless.
A fresh wave of guilt washed over Myra. “I’m so sorry, Freya,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, the words barely audible above the drumming rain that seemed to mock her despair. “I should have come sooner. I never meant to cause you pain. Please, believe me. My heart aches... with regret.” Her fingers trembled as she gently brushed the wet strands of hair away from Freya’s pale face, the unnatural coolness of her skin still unnerving, a tangible reminder of her non-mortal nature. The weight of her perceived role in Freya's current state pressed down on Myra, a heavy burden of regret that threatened to suffocate her.
Leaning closer, Myra’s breath hitched in her throat as she spoke, her voice a soft, desperate plea in the echoing silence of the small stone enclosure. “Please, Freya… please wake up. I need you. Please… don’t leave me alone in this darkness.” The weight of the storm outside, the oppressive darkness within the shelter, and the terrifying stillness of the woman in her arms pressed down on Myra, a crushing sense of helplessness threatening to overwhelm her, to extinguish the st embers of hope within her heart. The silence from Freya was the most frightening sound of all, a chilling void that threatened to swallow her whole.
