The warmth of their recent intimacy still lingered as they held each other close. Myra gently stroked Freya's hair, her fingers tracing the soft strands. Breaking their peaceful embrace, Freya spoke softly, “I shall make us a warm tea, my dear. You must be feeling… tired after such pleasure.” She attempted to rise from the bed, her movements still fluid despite the lingering nguor. However, as she took her first step, a faint scraping sound echoed from the direction of the shop door, a subtle vibration traveling through the floorboards.
Freya’s head snapped up, her crimson eyes narrowing with sudden alertness. She turned back to Myra, her expression now serious. “Stay here, my love. Be still.” Her voice was a low warning, the earlier tenderness repced by a protective urgency. Myra’s brow furrowed with worry, her gaze fixed on Freya’s face, sensing the immediate shift in the atmosphere.
With swift, practiced movements, Freya snatched up her discarded clothing, quickly pulling them on. Every action was precise and silent. Reaching the door to her private chamber, she paused, listening intently for any further sounds before cautiously making her way into the darkened shop. The sense of peace had vanished, repced by an unsettling tension that hung heavy in the air.
Peering through the narrow gap where the door met the frame, Freya could make out the faintest of shadows shifting just beyond. The slow, deliberate creak of footsteps approaching her shop door sent a cold unease through her. Whoever was out there was not rushing, their pace measured and almost… expectant. Then, the silence was broken by a distinct, soft knock, a polite yet persistent sound against the aged wood.
The voice that drifted through the door was feminine, polite, yet held a note of authority. “Lady Lyra Valerius?” the woman inquired, her tone clear despite the barrier. “I am here to deliver a message on behalf of Lady Amelia Valerius.”
Inside Freya’s private chamber, Myra clutched the dark velvet coverlet tightly to her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. Valerius? Myra thought, her brow furrowing. Is she reted? The name " Lyra Valerius” struck a chord of apprehension within her, a sense of foreboding tightening its grip. She strained her ears, trying to discern any further details, her worried gaze fixed on the closed door that separated her from Freya and the unknown visitor. The mention of her family name and the formal address could only mean one thing: Amelia had sent someone.
Freya eased the heavy wooden door open just enough to see who stood on the threshold. A woman stood there, her presence composed and her gaze direct. Her hair was a striking shade of bck, pulled back neatly from a face framed by sharp, intelligent features. Her eyes, a piercing shade of blue, held a cool, assessing quality as they met Freya’s. She was cd in a long, dark coat that suggested both practicality and a certain formality, its lines hinting at a figure that was slender yet carried itself with an air of quiet competence.
The woman’s blue eyes briefly scanned Freya before settling back on her face. Her expression remained neutral, professional. “Good evening,” she said, her voice clear and measured. “I am Sarah, a personal maid to Lady Amelia Valerius. I have been instructed to deliver this letter to Lady Freya.” She extended a sealed envelope, its paper bearing a familiar crest, towards the vampire.
Freya regarded the maid, Sarah, her crimson eyes taking in every detail of her appearance and demeanor. She noted the formality, the controlled expression, the way Sarah held herself with a quiet confidence. There was a purposefulness about her that suggested she was more than a simple messenger.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Freya reached out and took the proffered letter. Her cool fingers brushed against Sarah’s briefly as she accepted the sealed missive. She held the envelope, her gaze flicking down to the familiar Valerius crest before returning to Sarah.
“Thank you, Sarah,” Freya said, her voice calm and even, betraying none of the unease that had settled within her. “Please convey my acknowledgement to Lady Amelia.” Her eyes held a steady, questioning gaze, hinting that while she accepted the letter, she understood this visit was likely more than a mere delivery.
Sarah gave a curt nod. “I shall inform Lady Amelia of your receipt, Lady Freya.” Her blue eyes flickered momentarily towards the darkened interior of the shop, a brief, almost imperceptible curiosity crossing her features before she returned her gaze to Freya. “Lady Amelia awaits your response at your earliest convenience.” With that, Sarah offered a slight, formal inclination of her head. “Good evening, Lady Freya.” Turning smoothly, she made her way back into the night, her footsteps receding steadily into the silence.
Freya stood in the doorway, the cool night air seeping into the warm interior of the shop, her gaze fixed on the sealed envelope in her hand. The familiar crest of the Valerius family seemed to press into her skin, a tangible weight of past entanglements and potential future complications. She turned the letter over slowly, her brow furrowed in thought, a myriad of possibilities swirling in her ancient mind.
Behind the heavy velvet curtain that concealed the entrance to Freya’s private chamber, Myra watched with bated breath. Her heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and concern, her eyes fixed on Freya’s every movement. The unexpected arrival and the mention of her Amelia’s name had shattered the peaceful intimacy of their evening, casting a shadow of uncertainty over their newfound happiness. She clutched the velvet coverlet tighter, her mind racing with unanswered questions and a growing sense of unease about the contents of that sealed letter.
Her voice soft with worry, Myra emerged from behind the curtain. “Freya? Is everything alright? Who was that?” She moved closer, her gaze searching Freya’s face for any hint of what had transpired. The lingering scent of the night air and the serious expression on Freya’s features did little to ease her apprehension.
Freya quickly slipped the sealed envelope into a hidden pocket within her coat, her movements swift and practiced. She turned to Myra, forcing a reassuring smile, though a flicker of something unreadable still lingered in her crimson eyes. “Everything is fine, my dear,” she said, her voice calm but perhaps a little too casual. “Just a… a message. Nothing for you to worry about.” Her attempt to downpy the situation felt a little too quick, a little too dismissive, and Myra, who had come to know Freya’s subtle tells, couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.
Myra’s brow creased slightly, her gaze lingering on the spot where Freya had concealed the letter. She sensed the subtle tension in Freya’s shoulders, the fleeting shadow that had crossed her eyes. While she didn’t know the specifics of Freya’s retionship with “Lady Amelia,” the formality of the delivery and Freya’s guarded reaction sparked a flicker of unease, a suspicion that perhaps it wasn't just a simple message.
“If you say so, Freya,” Myra said slowly, her voice holding a note of gentle skepticism. She decided not to press further for now, trusting that Freya would share when she was ready. However, a seed of worry had been pnted, a silent question mark hanging in the air about the mysterious letter and the woman who had sent it. The thought that Lady Amelia might be a past lover, or someone significant in Freya’s long history, couldn’t help but linger in the back of her mind, a subtle ripple in the newfound peace of their evening.
Myra could see the subtle tension that still clung to Freya’s shoulders, the guarded look that occasionally flickered in her eyes despite her attempts at reassurance. Without a word, Myra rose from the table and stepped towards Freya, wrapping her arms around the vampire in a comforting embrace. “I should probably leave now,” she murmured, her cheek resting against Freya’s cool hair. “It’s getting te.”
Freya held her tightly for a moment, then gently pulled back, her crimson gaze softening as she looked at Myra. “Of course,” she said quietly. “I will accompany you back to the vilge. It’s no trouble at all.” As she spoke, Freya’s fingers instinctively brushed against the mark on Myra’s neck, the spot where she had briefly fed. Her touch lingered there for a fleeting second, and Myra saw a shadow of sadness cross her face, a hint of the internal conflict that still seemed to be troubling her.
“It’s alright, Freya,” Myra said softly, her voice a soothing balm. She reached up and gently cupped Freya’s cheek. “Everything will be alright.” She offered a reassuring smile, hoping to ease the worry she saw in the vampire’s eyes. “Thank you for tonight. It was… wonderful.”
Freya managed a small, though still somewhat mencholic, smile in return. “It was wonderful for me too, Myra.” She took Myra’s hand, her touch cool yet comforting. “Let us go then.” Together, they moved towards the front of the shop, the unspoken questions and the weight of the mysterious letter hanging in the air between them, a subtle undercurrent beneath their fond farewell.
