Myra knew her grandmother's gentle inquiries were persistent, like the slow drip of water that eventually fills a vessel. Each repeated question about her well-being, each concerned gnce, felt like a pinprick threatening to burst the fragile bubble of secrecy she was desperately trying to maintain. The more her grandmother asked, the more likely it was that some unintentional slip, some nervous gesture, would reveal the truth of her terrifying yet strangely binding encounter. The thought of her grandmother's worry escating, or worse, her discovering the true nature of Freya, sent a shiver of fear down Myra’s spine. For Myra, escape in this moment means carefully navigating her grandmother's loving concern; revealing the truth – that Freya was both a woman and something far beyond mortal – would surely shatter the fragile, precious bond just beginning to form between them.

  It pained Myra to deflect her grandmother's affection, to offer half-truths and strained smiles to the woman who had raised her with unwavering love. But the bond she was forging with Freya, a retionship that had unexpectedly blossomed into a love as fragile as a newborn bird, was paramount. It was a connection forged in re-discovery and newly discovered love, in unexpected intimacy and shared vulnerability. To expose it now, in its infancy, felt like inviting a storm to shatter a newly sprouted seed. She had to protect this fragile beginning, even if it meant a temporary dance of evasion with the one person who had always been her sanctuary.

  “Grandma,” Myra said, rising from the table, a sense of determination settling within her, “I am going to see Freya today. I… I need to.” The events of the previous nights, despite their terrifying nature, had forged an even stronger bond between her and Freya, a need to be near her, to understand what had happened, overriding her grandmother’s concerns.

  Her grandmother’s brow furrowed, her gaze filled with worry. “Myra, I was so concerned yesterday. You looked genuinely unwell when you returned. Please, be careful, child. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” The anxiety in her voice was palpable, a testament to her deep love and protectiveness.

  Myra walked over to her grandmother and pced a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I will be careful, Grandma, I promise. I know you worry, and I appreciate it more than you know. But I need to do this. I need to see her today.”

  A sigh escaped her grandmother’s lips, a sound tinged with resignation. “I cannot control what you do, Myra. You are your own woman, and you will make your own choices. Just… please be mindful of your safety.” The words were a reluctant acceptance, a grandmother’s love ultimately yielding to her granddaughter’s will. “Thank you, Grandma,” Myra said softly, offering a grateful smile before turning to leave, her heart filled with a mix of apprehension and a powerful longing to be with Freya once more.

  As Myra reached the cottage door, her hand on the tch, her grandmother’s voice echoed from the kitchen, stopping her in her tracks. “Myra, dear, wait a moment.”

  Myra turned back, a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. Her grandmother was looking at her intently, her brow slightly furrowed. “That scarf, Myra,” she said, her gaze fixed on the woolen fabric wrapped snugly around Myra’s neck. “It’s rather warm today, isn’t it? You’ll be much more comfortable without it.”

  A wave of panic washed over Myra. The scarf, hastily tied that morning, was meant to conceal the still-tender wounds on her neck, a visible reminder of the previous nights' terrifying encounter. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel a flush rising in her cheeks.

  “Oh, Grandma,” Myra stammered, her fingers instinctively touching the scarf. “Yes, it is a bit warm. But… but I think I might be catching a slight chill. My throat feels a little scratchy. I’ll probably take it off ter, when I get to Freya’s. It’s a bit dusty there, you know.” She offered a weak smile, hoping her excuse sounded pusible.

  Her grandmother’s gaze remained unwavering, a flicker of something akin to suspicion in her eyes. But after a moment, she sighed, seemingly accepting Myra’s expnation, though not without a lingering doubt. “Alright, dear. Just don’t overheat. Be careful on your walk.”

  With a quick, forced smile, Myra turned and hurried out the door, her heart still racing. She clutched the scarf tighter around her neck, a silent plea for it to conceal the truth. As she walked down the path, her mind raced, wondering just how much her grandmother had noticed. The weight of her secret felt heavier than the scarf around her neck.

  The well-worn path to Freya’s antique shop seemed both familiar and alien under Myra’s hurried steps. Every rustle of leaves, every bird's call, amplified the frantic rhythm of her heart. The ck of full honesty in what she told her grandmother sat like a stone in her stomach, a sharp contrast to the yearning that pulled her forward. She hated the deception, the feeling of building a wall between herself and the woman who had always been her anchor. But the thought of revealing the truth, of expining the impossible connection she felt with Freya, felt even more terrifying.

  Myra thought about what her grandmother would think. Fear? Disappointment? Myra shuddered at the potential reactions. The vilge whispers about strange happenings, about things that lurked in the shadows – they would all coalesce around Freya, and by extension, around Myra herself. The fragile love that had begun to blossom between them felt too precious, too vulnerable to the harsh light of judgment and misunderstanding. So, the scarf remained a shield, a silent testament to the secret she carried.