The Taste of Knowledge

Chapter 162

Amelia was her lover for centuries… and she was possessive. Myra’s thoughts raced, piecing together the fragments of information. The crumpled letter, Freya’s occasional moments of deep melancholy… it all seemed to point towards a powerful and potentially unresolved connection. The sheer length of their relationship was daunting enough, but the possessiveness hinted at a complex dynamic, perhaps one that hadn't ended amicably. A sense of urgency settled within Myra; she needed to understand these lingering shadows that threatened to darken their present.

“Freya,” Myra began, her voice carefully neutral, her gaze steady as she looked into the vampire’s crimson eyes. “You said Amelia was your lover. What… what happened between the two of you?” She needed to know, to understand the nature of that past relationship and whether it truly belonged in the past, or if there were still threads connecting Freya to Amelia. The question hung in the air, a quiet but significant inquiry into a part of Freya’s life that held both fascination and a degree of apprehension for Myra.

Freya’s gaze softened, sensing the underlying concern in Myra’s question. She took a slow, deliberate breath, as if preparing to unearth a deeply buried memory. “It… it was a long time ago, Myra,” she began, her voice tinged with a distant sadness. “Our relationship… it was intense. All-consuming, in many ways.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Amelia… she had a very strong personality. A very… possessive nature.” A faint shadow crossed her features. “Over time… that possessiveness became… stifling. Controlling. I felt… trapped.”

She looked down at their intertwined hands for a moment, her thumb gently stroking Myra’s. “Eventually… I knew I had to leave. It wasn’t easy.” A hint of the old fear flickered in her crimson eyes. “It… it was a difficult separation. One that… left its mark.” She finally looked back up at Myra, her expression earnest. “But that was centuries ago, Myra. A lifetime ago, even for me. It is over. Truly over.”

Myra’s voice held a tremor of raw emotion, her eyes searching Freya’s with a mixture of hurt and a desperate need for reassurance. “But Freya,” she pressed, the memory of that terrifying night still vivid, “I saw Amelia here, in the antique shop. And seeing her… it made you lose control. You… you drank my blood. How can you say it’s truly over? That didn't look like 'over,' Freya. Are you even over her?”

Freya’s breath caught in her throat. The directness of Myra’s question, the painful truth of her words, struck her like a physical blow. Her gaze fell away from Myra’s, a wave of shame and guilt washing over her. She opened her mouth to speak, to offer an explanation, a reassurance, but the words caught in her throat, unformed and inadequate. The memory of that raw, uncontrollable hunger, triggered by Amelia, was a stark and undeniable truth that she couldn’t easily dismiss. For a long, agonizing moment, Freya remained silent, unable to meet Myra’s gaze, the weight of her past and the fear of her own nature pressing down on her.

Freya’s features tightened in anguish, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Words seemed to fail her, each attempt to explain the tangled history with Amelia feeling inadequate and potentially more damaging. She looked at Myra, her heart aching at the hurt reflected in her eyes, and a profound confusion washed over her. 

Freya's crimson eyes slowly filled with tears, blurring her vision. The memories of her mortal life, the innocent love she had once held for Amelia, flooded back with a painful clarity. “I… I used to love her so much, Myra,”  her voice trailed off, the unspoken tragedy hanging heavy in the air.

A fresh wave of sorrow washed over Freya as the memories of that fateful night resurfaced – the accident, the agonizing pain, and then Amelia’s desperate act, turning her into what she now was. More tears spilled down her cheeks as she finally voiced a truth she had buried for centuries, a raw confession torn from the depths of her being. “I never wanted to be a vampire, Myra,” she choked out, her voice filled with a profound and inconsolable grief. “She… she took that from me.”

Gently, Myra reached out and held Freya’s face in her hands, her thumbs softly wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “Oh, Freya,” she murmured, her voice filled with a deep and aching empathy. “I… I didn’t know.” She looked into Freya’s tear-filled crimson eyes, her own welling up with unshed tears. “She took that from you… your mortality.”

Myra's heart ached with sympathy, a deep sadness coloring her understanding. This wasn't just about a past love; it was about a fundamental part of Freya’s being that had been irrevocably changed, against her will. The weight of that stolen life, the enduring resentment and grief, was palpable. “Freya,” Myra said, her voice firm despite the tears that threatened to spill, “it’s okay. I understand. You didn’t want this.” She held Freya’s gaze, her own filled with unwavering love and support. “We’ll… we’ll figure this out. Together.”

Myra gently stroked Freya’s hair, a soothing balm against her sorrow. After a quiet moment, she asked softly, her voice filled with understanding, “Freya, would it be… okay if I learned more about your relationship with Amelia? About what things were like… between you?”  She wanted to understand that past bond, how it had shaped Freya. Maybe then she could better understand Freya’s fears and help her heal. Her touch was reassuring, an offer of support as Freya considered sharing something so personal.

Freya leaned into Myra’s gentle touch, the rhythmic stroking of her hair a small comfort amidst the lingering sadness. She took a slow, shaky breath before meeting Myra’s earnest gaze. “Yes, Myra,” she said softly, her voice still a little thick with emotion. “Yes, I… I think that would be alright. Perhaps… perhaps it would even help.” The words were hesitant, but there was a sense of acceptance, a willingness to share a part of herself that she had kept hidden for so long.

Myra offered a gentle smile, her eyes filled with gratitude for Freya’s openness. “Thank you, Freya,” she whispered, her heart filled with a quiet respect for the vulnerability Freya was showing. “Only when you’re ready, of course. I just… I want to understand everything that’s important to you.” She continued to stroke Freya’s hair, creating a safe and comforting space for her to share whenever she felt ready to delve into the complexities of her past with Amelia. The silence that followed was not one of tension, but of understanding and unspoken support.

As the weight of their shared vulnerabilities settled in the dimly lit shop, a subtle shift occurred in the atmosphere. "I think I should go now," Myra murmured, the comfortable quiet now feeling heavy with unspoken thoughts. Her mind was a whirlwind, trying to fit the Freya she knew into the picture of someone who had loved another for centuries and carried the burden of unwanted immortality. 

Turning in Freya's arms, she pressed a soft kiss to her lips, a promise of seeing her again, but also a silent plea for time to sort through everything. "See you in the morning, Freya. I just... need some time to think." With a final, lingering look that held a touch of uncertainty, she turned and walked towards the door, the weight of this newly revealed past settling heavily upon her.

Freya’s heart sank at Myra’s words, a sudden vulnerability washing over her. She reached out a hand, wanting to say stay, but the unspoken weight in the air held her back. Lost in her own thoughts, the fear of what Myra was contemplating mirrored her own anxieties, leaving her silent as Myra walked away. "Myra..." Freya whispered into the empty air after the door closed, her heart aching with a mixture of fear and a desperate hope for understanding.