Once Myra’s strength had returned enough for her to contempte the journey back to the vilge, Freya, despite her own lingering guilt and worry, insisted on accompanying her to the edge of the woods bordering their nd. The walk was slow and punctuated by Freya’s anxious inquiries about Myra’s well-being. At the familiar boundary where the ancient trees gave way to the cultivated fields surrounding the vilge, they stopped. A silent understanding passed between them. Freya, a creature of the night, could not venture further without risking exposure. They embraced, a tender moment weighted with the unspoken events of the past days. Then, as Myra turned to walk towards the distant cottage lights, Freya caught her hand, pulling her back gently for a lingering kiss, a silent promise and a heartfelt farewell.

  Myra slipped in quietly, hoping to avoid detection, but the warm glow emanating from the hearth and the hushed voices within told her that her absence had been noted. Her grandmother hadn't seen her return the previous night, her worry a palpable presence in the small cottage. As she stepped through the door, her grandmother’s face, etched with worry and relief, turned towards her.

  “Myra! Child, where have you been? I was so worried when you didn’t return.” Her voice was filled with a tremor of fear, and her eyes searched Myra’s face with concern.

  Just then, the door opened again, and Isa and Gareth stepped inside, their expressions mirroring Myra’s grandmother’s anxiety. “Myra! We were just about to go out looking for you,” Isa excimed, her brow furrowed with worry. Gareth stood slightly behind his mother, his gaze fixed on Myra, his expression a mixture of relief and something else… something that looked like hurt and confusion.

  Isa’s eyes narrowed as she took in Myra’s pale complexion and the way she seemed to move with a slight stiffness. “Myra, are you alright? You look… unwell. Did something happen?” Gareth’s gaze also lingered on her, a silent question in his eyes, likely recalling their st, awkward encounter in the garden.

  Myra forced a weak smile, trying to appear as nonchant as possible. “Oh, Grandma, Isa, Gareth. I’m so sorry for worrying you. I just… I went for a walk, further than I intended, and lost track of time. It got dark so quickly.” She hoped her expnation sounded pusible, though the lie felt heavy on her tongue.

  Isa’s gaze remained skeptical. “A walk, Myra? That far? And you look… pale. Are you sure nothing happened? You seem… hurt.” Gareth’s eyes echoed Isa’s concern, and Myra could see a flicker of suspicion in his gaze.

  Myra shifted uncomfortably, trying to downpy the situation. “No, no, I’m fine, truly. I just… I might have tripped. It’s silly, I know. But I’m just a little tired and maybe a bit clumsy in the dark.” She offered a weak ugh, hoping it sounded convincing.

  Her grandmother, ever perceptive, still looked unconvinced, but she sighed with apparent relief that Myra was at least home. “Well, come sit by the fire, child. You look like you could use some warmth.” Isa and Gareth exchanged concerned gnces but didn’t press the matter further, perhaps sensing Myra’s reluctance to expin. The weight of her secret, the incredible love she now shared with Freya, felt like a heavy cloak she had to conceal from the well-meaning concern of her family and friends. The night had changed everything, and the carefully constructed normalcy of her life now felt like a fragile facade.

  Myra’s grandmother, sensing the te hour and perhaps picking up on the subtle awkwardness lingering in the air, addressed Isa and Gareth with a gentle but firm tone. “Isa, dear, and Gareth, thank you both for your concern. But as you can see, Myra is home now, and she’s just a little weary. It’s getting te, and I’m sure you both have your own homes to return to.”

  Isa, though still casting a worried gnce at Myra, nodded understandingly. “Of course. We just wanted to make sure she was alright. Myra, please take care of yourself. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.” Gareth echoed his mother’s sentiments with a quiet nod, his eyes meeting Myra’s briefly before he followed Isa out the door, a thoughtful and somewhat troubled expression on his face.

  With the departure of their neighbors, the grandmother’s full attention turned back to Myra. The relief she had initially shown had now been repced by a more scrutinizing gaze, her years of wisdom and observation picking up on the subtle cues that Myra couldn’t quite mask. The air in the cozy cottage suddenly felt thick with unspoken questions and a deep, abiding concern.

  Myra’s grandmother settled into her familiar rocking chair by the hearth, her gaze fixed on Myra with a mixture of worry and a knowing silence. After a few moments, she sighed softly, her voice gentle but carrying a weight of unspoken concern. “Myra, child,” she began, her eyes filled with a lifetime of love and care, “I have a great many questions running through my mind right now. You were gone for so long, and you look… not quite yourself.”

  She paused, studying Myra’s pale face and the subtle stiffness in her movements. “But,” she continued, her voice softening with understanding, “I can see that you are weary, my dear. Whatever happened on your extended walk, it has clearly taken its toll. Rest is what you need most right now. We can talk more in the morning, when you’ve had a chance to recover.” Her words offered a temporary reprieve, a postponement of the inevitable inquiries, but Myra knew that her grandmother’s gentle understanding wouldn’t st forever. The questions would come, and Myra would have to find a way to answer them without revealing the incredible, and potentially dangerous, truth of her love for Freya.