Her grandmother’s distress intensified, her tears now flowing more freely. “No, Myra, no!” she insisted, shaking her head vehemently. “Don’t you see? This woman… Freya… what has she done to you? She has bewitched you! I knew there was something strange about that shop, that woman. It always gave me a bad feeling, a coldness, like a pce where dark spirits linger.”

  Her voice rose with a growing fear. “I always hated you going there, Myra. There’s something unnatural about her. You were always drawn to that pce, and now… now I see why. She has cast a spell on you, twisted your feelings. This isn’t you, my child! This isn’t the life I envisioned for you.”

  Her grandmother’s worry had now morphed into a tangible fear, a belief that something sinister was at py. “I never stopped you from going because… because you always seemed happy when you came back,” she confessed, her voice choked with emotion. “There was a light in your eyes, a joy I hadn’t seen before. I thought… I thought it was just curiosity, a harmless interest. But now I understand. It was her influence, drawing you in, twisting your mind.” Her words painted a picture of a helpless Myra, a victim of Freya’s supposed dark powers, fueled by the fear of the unknown and a desperate desire to protect her granddaughter.

  Myra’s heart ached at her grandmother’s distress and the fear in her voice. “Grandma, please, you’re wrong,” she said softly but firmly, reaching out to take her grandmother’s trembling hands. “Freya hasn’t bewitched me. This isn’t some kind of spell. These are my own feelings, my own choices.”

  She looked her grandmother directly in the eyes, wanting to convey the truth of her emotions. “She hasn’t done anything to me except be kind, understanding, and… loving. The happiness you saw in my eyes after visiting her, that was real, Grandma. It wasn’t a trick. It was because of her.”

  Myra struggled to find the words to counter her grandmother’s deeply held beliefs about the supernatural. “There are things you don’t understand about Freya,” she admitted, choosing her words carefully. “But she is not evil. She has never tried to hurt me. In fact, she’s made me feel safer and more understood than anyone else has in a long time.”

  “Please believe me, Grandma,” Myra pleaded, her voice filled with sincerity. “My feelings for Freya are real. They come from my heart. And I know in my heart that this is right for me. You’ve always taught me to follow my heart, haven’t you? Please trust me on this.” She hoped her earnestness and the genuine love in her eyes could penetrate her grandmother’s fear and preconceived notions.

  Myra’s heart sank further at her grandmother’s continued resistance, the stark pronouncement hitting her like a physical blow. “But Grandma,” she countered, her voice ced with a mix of sadness and a growing frustration, “that’s not true either. Just because Freya is a woman doesn’t mean we don’t have a future. Love isn’t about… about what someone is, it’s about how you feel about them, how you connect.”

  She struggled to articute a perspective that her grandmother seemed unwilling to consider. “We care for each other, Grandma. Deeply. We make each other happy. Isn’t that what a future is built on? Love and happiness?”

  Myra’s gaze pleaded with her grandmother for understanding. “Why would me loving a man guarantee a future? People can be unhappy, even in those situations. And why would me loving Freya automatically mean we have no chance? We can build a life together, a happy life. It might look different to what you’ve always imagined for me, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be real, or meaningful.” The limitations her grandmother was pcing on her happiness based solely on Freya’s gender felt like an insurmountable wall between them.

  Her grandmother shook her head sadly, tears still clinging to her eyeshes. “Myra, my sweet child, you are so young, so innocent,” she said, her voice filled with a weary resignation. “You don’t understand the ways of the world. What feels right now, in the heat of… whatever this is… will fade. It always does. But the consequences… those will remain.”

  She reached for Myra’s hand again, her touch softer this time, filled with a deep, aching concern. “A life with another woman, Myra… it will be a lonely path. You won’t have the family I dream of for you, the children to fill your home with ughter. People will turn their backs. You will be whispered about, judged. Is that the life you truly want for yourself?”

  Her grandmother’s words painted a bleak picture of social ostracism and unfulfilled expectations, a future devoid of the traditional milestones she cherished. Her love for Myra was palpable, but it was filtered through the lens of her deeply ingrained beliefs about what constituted a good and happy life for a woman. The idea of Myra choosing a different path filled her with a profound sadness and a genuine fear for her granddaughter’s well-being in a world she believed would not accept such a love.

  Myra’s heart ached at her grandmother’s words, the bleak picture she painted of a lonely and judged future. But the certainty of her feelings for Freya wouldn’t waver. “But Grandma,” she countered, her voice softer now, yet firm, “what if my happiness isn’t the happiness you envision for me? What if my heart doesn’t yearn for that traditional path? Isn’t my happiness important too?”

  She looked at her grandmother, her eyes filled with a quiet determination. “Maybe it will be different. Maybe it will be challenging. But living a life that feels untrue to myself, living a life without love… that would be the truly lonely path for me.”

  She gently squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “And you don’t know what the future holds, Grandma. Maybe things are changing. Maybe love is what truly matters, no matter who it’s with. I’m willing to face whatever challenges come our way, as long as I have Freya by my side. Because with her, I feel whole. I feel like myself. And that, to me, is worth more than anything.” The quiet strength in her voice reflected a love that was determined to forge its own path, despite the obstacles.

  Her grandmother stood up abruptly, the movement stiff and filled with a palpable sorrow. She turned away from Myra, her back rigid, her shoulders slightly hunched with distress. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was thick with a pain that cut Myra to the core.

  “Why, Myra?” she asked, her voice trembling, not turning around to meet her granddaughter’s gaze. “Why won’t you listen to me? I have always guided you, always tried to steer you towards what is right, what is safe. You have always been such a good girl, always listened to my wisdom, my experience. What has changed? What has this woman done to make you turn away from everything I have taught you, everything I believe?”

  Her words hung heavy in the air, den with disappointment and a sense of betrayal. It was clear that her grandmother felt lost, unable to understand this sudden deviation from the path she had always believed Myra would follow. The unspoken accusation that Freya had somehow corrupted her good granddaughter hung between them, a painful testament to the chasm that now separated their perspectives.

  Her grandmother remained standing, her back still turned, her posture conveying a resolute refusal to continue the conversation. “I don’t want to hear any more, Myra,” she said, her voice ft and final. “Not now.” The finality in her tone left little room for argument, a clear indication that she had reached her limit.

  Myra opened her mouth to speak, to try once more to expin, to plead for understanding, but before she could utter a word, her grandmother cut her off, her voice weary and heavy with emotion.

  “Just… give me time, Myra,” she said, her words barely above a whisper. “Give me time to… to think about all of this. I can’t… I can’t talk about it anymore right now.” With that, she moved slowly, her steps heavy as she walked away, leaving Myra standing alone in the quiet room, the weight of their unresolved conversation pressing down on her.

  A wave of sadness washed over Myra, the finality in her grandmother’s voice echoing in the silence of the cottage. The chasm between their understanding felt vast and suddenly insurmountable. It was as if a storm had suddenly brewed in the familiar warmth of their home, leaving a chilling draft in its wake. Her heart ached for her grandmother’s pain, the fear she so clearly felt. But a stubborn ember of conviction still glowed within Myra. Could she truly deny the undeniable joy and profound connection she felt with Freya just to appease her grandmother’s traditional fears? It felt like tearing a piece of herself away, a betrayal of the happiness she had so unexpectedly found.

  Now, a new kind of waiting began, a tense anticipation for the time when her grandmother might be ready to listen again, hoping that love and understanding could somehow bridge the divide that had opened between them. The path ahead felt uncertain and fraught, but the memory of Freya's loving gaze and the truth of her own heart were the only compass she had to navigate it.