Freya's existence stretched back through the murky annals of history. Her transformation into a creature of the night was a traumatic event, a forced initiation into a reality both terrifying and powerful. The details of her turning were shrouded in the mists of time, a personal tragedy she rarely, if ever, revisited in her long, solitary reflections.

The initial decades of her vampiric existence were marked by a brutal struggle for survival, a desperate dance between the intoxicating allure of her newfound power and the crushing guilt of her unnatural hunger. She learned to navigate the shadows, to conceal her true nature from the ever-suspicious eyes of humanity.

She learned to appreciate the subtle beauty of
the mortal world from a distance, finding solace in art, and literature. Yet, the inherent limitations of her nature - the constant need for blood, the fear of exposure, the inability to truly connect with the fleeting lives of mortals.

The antique shop became her latest sanctuary, a place where the remnants of human history gathered dust, mirroring her own timeless existence. It was a carefully chosen facade, a quiet corner where she could indulge her appreciation for the past while remaining safely hidden from the present. Her encounters with mortals were usually brief and transactional, a means to an end for her survival.

The arrival of Myra shattered this carefully constructed equilibrium. The young woman's bold offer, her desperate plea, and the unexpected connection forged through blood and shared purpose had stirred something within Freya that she had long believed dormant. The centuries of solitude and detachment were being challenged, replaced by a flicker of empathy, a burgeoning curiosity, and the unsettling realization that even in her endless night, something new, something unexpected, could still take root. Her life was a long, lonely journey, but Myra's arrival had written a new, uncertain chapter.