“It’s a powerful word, isn’t it?” Demi wondered to Dollop.
“Pi pii pipi pii,” squeaked Dollop quizzically.
“Oh, of course you wouldn’t know what I meant. I didn’t say it after all,” Demi realized with a wry laugh. It almost felt too uncomfortable to voice it, as if saying it might cause it to be misunderstood. Her yearning for it came from the quietest depths of herself, in the fathoms far below.
At last she let the word out as little more than a whisper.
“Partner.”
Once she said it, the word felt trivial and hollow, pale and thin and foolish. It left her feeling embarrassed, even though there was no one here to judge her but Dollop (and her own self, of course). To want such a thing felt weak and frivolous.
It might have been weak, but it was not frivolous.
(It was not either, but she was in no position to recognize this about herself at that moment.)
She wasn’t looking for a romantic fantasy, some prince to sweep in and solve all of her problems in one go—although if there was someone like that, who could solve all of her insurmountable problems immediately, then she would take it. She needed all the help she could get, she felt.
But really, she was looking for something else.
What she wanted most was to be seen.
To be heard.
To be understood.
To be accepted.
To be trusted.
To be cared for.
She wanted someone that she could show her fears and doubt to, someone she did not have to be responsible for, someone she could be responsible to.
She wanted someone to care for as she wanted to be cared for, someone she could walk in step with. They did not need to be any sort of superlative, not a genius, not a hero. They did not need to be the lead from a romantic novel—not even her handsome old man, the Shadowstep Alchemist. They did not need to be gorgeous or handsome and they did not need an uncountable inventory of spotless virtues. She did not require perfection.
She wanted honesty, mistakes, awkward kindness, unexpected generosity—their uncertainty, their frailty, their faults, the scars that they were afraid to show to others.
She wanted someone to talk to, someone who would laugh at her jokes even when they were terrible, and then tell her frankly that they were terrible. She wanted someone who would see her, not as they wished her to be, not as she presented herself, but as she actually was: hopelessly imperfect and yet trying her best.
She would value every last drop of what made that person who they were as if it were a treasure without price, because it would be. It would be the greatest treasure that she would ever be given the keeping of. She would keep them and carry them safe from harm, giving what she could of herself. She would protect them the way she wanted to be protected.
Someone to lean on.
Someone who would trust her enough to lean on her.
Demi had almost no experience having anything approaching an ordinary friend, not one that she saw regularly face-to-face. The single person who had blossomed as her bosom friend had died soon after their first adventure together. Demi had kept writing letters to her even after her death.
Tear had been the closest that Demi had ever come to that word.
Partner.
If she were wishing on stars tonight, then that would be what she wished for.
“Pi pii pi pi pii pi pi pii,” Dollop pointed out, pulling her away from her shooting-star gazing.
She laughed weakly at that, reaching over to gently pat the dango.
“And I appreciate it. Very much,” she consoled him. “You’re a wonderful friend to me.”
But you’re like my baby, she finished to herself.
After patting Dollop for a while, Demi lifted the book on her chest to consider it against the backdrop of the stars. She was much further along in the story now, which gave her more room to speculate.
“I wonder who you’ll end up with,” she asked the serious half-elf boy on the cover. “It can’t be Wendy. History says she becomes the Unicorn Queen and marries Conri. And it can’t be Conri for similar reasons. It’s not like I wouldn’t be willing to read a matching of Conri x Grey x Wendy, but I feel like at least one of the more speculative history books would have mentioned it already.” She shook her head. “And while your chemistry with Philo is always great, I don’t think it’s that kind of story—not that I would judge!”
Demi was very magnanimous on that count. If two people loved each other, then that was probably fine, no matter what anyone else might have to say about it.
She was liberal in her opinions on the subject, but then that was perhaps to be expected given that she had the potential to be a Harvest Goddess and the Goddess of Life besides.
Life, ah, finds a way, after all, she trilled to herself.
She continued humming to herself as she thought things over. It was much easier to speculate about the possibilities of fictional pairings than it was to dwell on the realities of her own woefully pathetic romantic prospects.
It was hard enough imagining meeting someone I myself might actually be interested in when I was the heir to the Seat of Serraffield, she bemoaned silently. Who in their right mind is going to have the ego necessary to actually consider having any kind of romantic fandango with a goddess?
She deflated mentally, becoming something like a jiggly invertebrate jellyfish version of herself. At least I still have plenty of Shadowstep Alchemist books left to read, she consoled herself.
Back in reality, Demi wiggled the book against its starry backdrop.
“At one point I thought you were possibly going to end up with Mimiria, but I don’t think so anymore.” She let out a sigh of relief. “Honestly I’m glad that it’s not going to work out because I don’t think I could have handled that pairing for the rest of the series.”
“Pi pii pipi pii pi.”
She looked over at Dollop and smiled, giving them a pat.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “I don’t have any idea either. Let’s go back inside. It’s getting chilly.”
She tucked her precious book back into her pocket, and she and her dango companion went back into the house.