Freya listened intently as Myra expined her sudden departure and her return, a thoughtful expression gracing her features. The vulnerability in Myra’s expnation, her acknowledgment of her own emotional turmoil, and the genuine desire to make amends were surprisingly touching. The ancient vampire found herself observing this mortal woman with a growing sense of… something beyond mere curiosity.
“Myra,” Freya said softly, her crimson eyes holding a hint of understanding, “you truly do carry your emotions close to the surface. There was no need for such… vehemence. My expnation was merely factual, devoid of any intended dismissal of our… connection.”
She rose gracefully from her chair. “Come,” she gestured towards a dimly lit corner of the shop that Myra hadn’t noticed before, where an antique samovar sat amidst an array of delicate teacups and strange-looking herbs hanging from the rafters. “All this emotional turmoil cannot be good for your mortal constitution. Allow me to prepare you a tea. I recall a certain blend, detailed within that very book we just finished, said to possess remarkable properties for soothing agitated nerves.”
A subtle smile pyed on Freya’s lips as she began to gather various dried leaves and flowers into a small silver infuser. “It seems the knowledge we unearthed may be beneficial to you in more ways than just healing your grandmother. Consider it a small, personal application of the ancient wisdom we have both bored over.” The offer was unexpected, a gesture of care that transcended their initial transactional agreement, further blurring the lines of their unusual retionship.
Freya carefully poured the steaming, amber-colored liquid into two delicate porcein cups. The aroma that wafted from them was subtly earthy and sweet, carrying a hint of something ancient and untamed. She handed one of the cups to Myra, her crimson eyes watching the younger woman intently.
Bringing the cup to her lips, Freya took a slow, deliberate sip. She swirled the liquid in her mouth for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. Swallowing, she remained impassive. "It… has a certain warmth," she observed, her voice neutral. "But I detect no discernible fvor. It is… remarkably bnd." She took another sip, her expression unchanged. "Truly, it tastes of… nothing."
Myra accepted the offered cup with a grateful smile. She inhaled deeply, her eyes closing for a moment as she savored the fragrant steam rising from the tea. A soft sigh escaped her lips. Taking a tentative sip, her face lit up slightly. "Oh, but it does have a taste," she said, her voice gentle. "It's… fragrant. Earthy, like you said, but with a subtle sweetness, almost like wildflowers. And there's a warmth that spreads through you, not just physical warmth, but… a calming feeling." She took another sip, her eyes fluttering closed again in contentment. "It's lovely, Freya. Thank you."
The contrasting reactions hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the fundamental differences between them. What was a sensory experience for the mortal woman was a muted nothingness for the ancient vampire. Yet, despite the ck of taste, Freya observed Myra's enjoyment with a quiet curiosity, a flicker of something akin to vicarious pleasure in witnessing the simple comfort the tea seemed to provide.
