Freya's gaze held Myra's, her expression unreadable. "Tell me about yourself, Myra. Tell me why this knowledge is so important to you, beyond a simple desire to help your village. Tell me about your life, your dreams, your fears. If we are to forge this unusual path together, I wish to know more than just the flavor of your blood. This is not merely a transaction, child. It is… something else entirely. And I wish to understand what that 'something else' might be."
A spark of indignation flashed in Myra's emerald eyes at Freya's continued use of the word "child." She straightened her spine, a subtle defiance entering her posture. "Mistress Freya," she said, her voice firm despite the lingering effects of the bloodletting, "with all due respect, I am not a child. I am twenty-one years old. I understand that in comparison to your… lifespan, that may seem insignificant, but I am an adult, making my own choices and taking responsibility for them."
Freya regarded her with an amused glint in her crimson eyes. "Indeed?" she purred, a hint of ancient superiority coloring her tone. "Twenty-one years. A blink in the vast expanse of time. I have witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations countless times over since before your ancestors even dreamt of the world you inhabit. To me, little mortal, you are indeed but a child, a fleeting spark in the grand tapestry of existence."
Despite Freya's condescending tone, Myra held her ground. "Regardless of the difference in our ages," she countered, her gaze unwavering, "if you truly wish to know me, to understand who I am beyond a source of sustenance or a seeker of knowledge, then I would appreciate it if you addressed me by my name. It is Myra." She emphasized the word, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If this is to be more than a simple transaction, as you suggested, then a basic level of respect and personal address seems appropriate."
The silence that followed hung in the air, thick with unspoken acknowledgment of Myra's unexpected assertiveness. Freya's lips curved into a slow, almost reluctant smile. There was a spark of admiration, however grudging, in her crimson gaze. This little mortal possessed a spine of steel beneath her delicate frame.
"Very well, Myra," Freya conceded, the name rolling off her tongue with a hint of newfound consideration. "Myra. It seems even in your fleeting existence, you possess a certain… firmness of character. A trait I can appreciate. Now, Myra, tell me about this passion for healing, this desire to delve into the forgotten lore of herbs. What fuels this drive in one so… young?" The change in address, though perhaps small, felt significant, a subtle shift in the power dynamic between the ancient vampire and the determined young woman.
A shadow of worry crossed Myra's features at the mention of her village. The earlier defiance softened, replaced by a genuine concern. "I need this knowledge, Freya," she began, the formal address slipping away in her earnestness. "My village... it's small, isolated. We don't have doctors or access to the modern medicines you might know. We rely on the old ways, the remedies passed down through generations. But sometimes… sometimes they aren't enough."
Her voice grew tight with emotion as she continued. "My grandmother… she's the heart of our community. She's the one who taught me what little I know about herbs, about healing. But lately, she's been getting sick. Weak. The remedies that used to help no longer work. The village elder has tried everything he knows, but nothing seems to ease her suffering."
Tears welled in Myra's emerald eyes, blurring their vibrant green. "The closest town with a proper physician is days away, and the journey would be too arduous for her in her current state. I've seen her grow weaker with each passing day, and I feel… helpless. My grandmother is everything to me. She raised me, taught me, guided me. If I could just find something, some forgotten herb, some ancient remedy that could help her… that's all I want."
Her voice broke slightly, a raw vulnerability exposed in the dimly lit shop. "My grandmother believed that the answers were out there, that the earth held cures for ailments we've forgotten how to treat. That's why she researched the old ways, why she sought out stories and legends. And that's why she sent me to you, Freya. She believed that someone with your… longevity might hold the key to knowledge that could save her."
The tears spilled over now, tracing glistening paths down her cheeks. "Please," Myra pleaded, her gaze imploring, "if you know of anything, any herb, any method that could help my grandmother… I would be eternally grateful. My offering of blood… it's nothing compared to what she means to me. She's not just my grandmother; she's the heart of our village. If I can't help her… I don't know what I'll do." The raw desperation in her voice painted a clear picture of her need, a stark contrast to the initial boldness of her offer. Her quest for knowledge was not merely academic; it was deeply personal, driven by love and a desperate hope to save the woman who meant the world to her.