He loved so many girls, and I felt so... alone. He loved them—why not me? Wasn't I worthy of love, too? Wasn't I... wasn't I good enough? I felt torn up inside every time he greeted me. So happy to see him, so giddy with joy that he was talking to me, that his eyes were on me, and—for the moment, at least—on me alone. But also hurt that I was left out in the cold, that even though his eyes were on me in that moment, they soon would turn away and look at another with that tender affection in his eyes that I wanted for myself. I wanted... I wanted to feel the power that love would give me over him, but also to feel myself completely under his spell. I wanted to revel in the knowledge that either of us could exercise absolute control over the other, if we chose—and also that neither of us would abuse that power, because of our love. I wanted... not to be alone anymore.

Truly, love is a bittersweet thing.

**************

"Dolly, do you have a minute?" I heard him say, though I refused to look at him. I was busy in the clinic, arranging some flowers in a vase for my adopted mother, Nancy.

"If you have something to say, nobody's stopping you," I muttered, trying to persuade a recalcitrant stem of blue charm flowers to stay where I wanted it. "And it's Dolce, not Dolly," I added sharply.

"Dolce, then," he said, agreeable as always... to my annoyance. Why did he have to be so nice? What did he want from me, anyway? He had five girlfriends—why was he here talking to me instead of off having fun with one of them?

"I was hoping we could go do something, if you aren't busy?" he continued.

"As you can clearly see, I am. Sorry," I replied shortly.

"How about later, then? We can go for a walk, if you'd like."

"To what purpose? I dislike aimless wandering. I dislike anything pointless," I replied.

"Of course. Well, I hope it won't be pointless—certainly it won't be to me. However, if you want to be sure that your time is well spent, perhaps instead of a walk we could go gather some wool in the fields where the woolies graze, or perhaps forage for some medicinal herbs?"

I wavered—just that morning, Nancy had been sighing to Jones, her husband and the town's doctor, that their stores of herbs were getting terribly low. Finally I shrugged. "Fine. Come by at 18:00, and you can help me gather herbs for the clinic."

"Great," he said, and though I still refused to turn and look at him, I could feel him smiling. "I'll see you this evening, Dolce." Then he was gone.

I knew he was gone without turning, knew it without my obnoxious, ghostly stalker materializing to inform me of the fact. I knew it because I was keenly aware of his presence, and painfully aware of his absence, as if my very soul longed for him. And that was why I had purposely avoided his gaze—I couldn't afford to lose myself in those lilac depths again, to lose any more of myself without gaining something of him in exchange.

He arrived a few minutes before the hour and stood in the front room of the clinic, making small talk with Nancy while he waited for me. I was helping Jones with the last patient of the day—a tourist who had unfortunately eaten rather a lot more than he should have of Porcoline's excellent cooking. Soon, the patient staggered out the door, feeling somewhat better but still groaning and clutching his distended belly, and I tidied up the exam room and went out to the front.

Nancy was of mixed feelings about Piers. She loved him—everyone did, no one could help themselves, it seemed. His charisma was powerful, the strongest I'd ever felt, and as an elf, I'd lived a long life, despite my youthful appearance. However, she didn't think that it was right for him to have so many girlfriends. She'd glare at his back when he'd walk by, mumbling about greedy boys, then she'd sigh and smile, and look over at me with some chagrin, saying she supposed she couldn't blame them, really, and thank goodness I had more sense. She didn't know that her words felt like a twist of the knife to me, that I longed at times to be as frivolous and senseless of tomorrows as the others. But I hadn't been offered the chance.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked me as we strolled towards the courtyard and the town gate.

"There's usually a number of herbs of different kinds out on the Plains. Let's start with that little clearing just west of the gates—there's quite a few there most days."

We passed through the gates, Piers waving in response to the guard's friendly greeting as we left town. Even though it was a chilly autumn day in town, once out in the Selphia Plains, the weather changed completely. Here, it was eternally summer, and the evening was pleasantly mild, with a gently, balmy breeze blowing through the tall grasses of the fields, fragrant with the scents of the herbs and flowers that dotted the meadows. Somewhere in the distance, a meadowlark sang its melancholy song.

As we walked, I scanned the meadow for the herbs we needed. I knew their formal names, but they were better known by their common names: medicinal grass, antidote grass, and the different colored grasses, of course. Most common of those in this part of the wilds were green, blue, and purple grass, though once in a while you might find a cluster of some other type, sprouted from seeds dropped by birds, no doubt. I found a thick patch of medicinal grass, and stooping down, I began to pluck the leaves one by one, setting them carefully in my satchel to be dried and pulverized into a powder later.

Piers knelt next to me, and began to pick leaves for me, setting them gently in the open satchel on the grass. When first he started to assist me, I turned to give him a sharp word of reproof, warning him to be careful as to which leaves he picked and how he handled them. But to my surprise, he used as much care and gentleness as I did, perhaps even more. So we continued gathering herbs in silence, and it felt strangely companionable to work together in that way.

After a little while, he stopped and rocked back onto his heels. "Dolce," he said, in his mellow voice. "I want to say something."

I gave a little half-shrug of acquiescence and continued working.

"Dolce, I... I love you."

I froze, the leaves in my hand slipping from my fingertips to the ground. Then I forced my spine to relax and turned to glare at him. "If that's meant as a joke, it's not funny."

"I'm not joking. I do love you. I've loved you since I first saw you."

I inhaled sharply, the air hissing through my clenched jaw. "If that's so, then why? Why now, why after all this time, and why after the others... all those other women? Why not just me?" Tears sprang to my eyes, and I angrily brushed them away.

He sat down, resting his elbow on his knee, and made a helpless gesture. "I love them, too."

"So," I snapped, "Nancy was right then. You are a womanizer. A cad. A... a deviant."

He looked surprised. "Nancy thinks that of me?"

"Well, she hasn't exactly said as much, but...." I admitted reluctantly.

"And you? What do you think? That's of far greater importance," he said, and he sounded... sad.

I knelt on the grass and looked away towards the setting sun, the golden rays dazzling my eyes for a moment. "I think... I think you ask for too much. I think you take more than you give. How can you give enough of yourself to even two women, let alone five or six? You can't possibly love them as much as they love you. It... it isn't fair to ask it."

"No, perhaps it isn't. But tell me honestly, is it better to love someone and keep quiet, possibly causing you both pain in your mutual unrequited loves, or to speak up and see if you are both willing to give it a chance? Life is full of adversity, isn't it? Even if I was with only one woman, there is no guarantee that our path would be a smooth one, with no pitfalls or difficulties. But it wouldn't matter, because the point is that we'd be walking that path together, and we could help each other through those difficulties. Loving more than one person—that's just another kind of difficulty, really. And because my girlfriends are all so close to each other, all of us can rely on each other, and help each other when there's trouble. Instead of shutting others out, we've instead opened our arms to include more than just two, and together, we're all stronger for these bonds we share."

I stared at him. "You... you make it almost sound... noble. But it's... it's not right. I don't want to share someone that I love. I want him all to myself, and I want him to look at me, and only me. I—"

"NO!" a voice shrieked close by, and jumping, we turned to see Pico materializing, floating just above the grass a few feet away. "No, no! Dolly is mine!! All mine!! I won't share her, I won't! You can't have her!"

"Pico!" I said, sternly. "Go somewhere else for a while."

"Tell him!" she demanded, glaring at Piers. "Tell him you don't love him! Isn't that right, Dolly?"

I looked down at my hands, and noticed to my surprise that I'd been twisting blades of grass into knots in my perturbation.

"Dolly? Tell him, Dolly," she pleaded. I remained silent, and she whimpered, tears in her empty eyes, "Why, Dolly? Why won't you say anything? Do you... do you mean.... You don't...?"

"Please just go, Pico. Wait for me at the clinic," I whispered.

She gasped, then turned to Piers and hissed—actually hissed, like a cat—at him. Then she vanished, and we were alone.

"I... I don't want to share you," I said quietly, after a few minutes of silence. "But... I'd rather share you than not have you at all."

"Then you...?"

"Yes, I do. I... I l-l-love you, too," I stammered, and gripped the twisted blades of grass so tightly in my hands, the edges cut my fingers just a little.

He stood up then, and held out a hand to me. I hesitated, then slowly set my hand in his. He pulled me to my feet and close to him, embracing me in his strong arms. He sighed, a happy sound rather than melancholy. "I'm so very happy, Dolce," he murmured.

"Don't call me Dolce," I whispered into his shirt. "Call me... call me Dolly."