Violet Evergarden, a young girl formerly known as "the weapon," has left the battlefield to start a new life at CH Postal Service. There, she is deeply moved by the work of "Auto Memories Dolls," who carry people's thoughts and convert them into wor...
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"Dear You" and the Auto-Memories Doll
A letter was the same as having one's heart sealed in an envelope. Words that one could never say in front of the other person were easily born in letters. Getting hurt and displaying love was just so simple, precisely because the other party was not in sight. That was why it had a more lethal effect and caused more loneliness. What could be felt from the smell of paper and ink, as well as the strings of characters left there, was "absence". And also the "time" that the other had spent for your sake. The more one missed the other, the lonelier they would be at the fact that only their feelings had been delivered. However, even if it were just their feelings, they wanted to deliver it. That was why people took their pens in hand and wrote down "dear you".
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At a certain army base, a colonel of the army was about to write a letter.
He was facing his desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper in a room where there was no one but him. For roughly a few minutes, he remained silent, not moving the fountain pen in his grasp.
From the room's window, he could see that a gelid wind was blowing outside.
In the southern country that he was originally supposed to be living in, he was not able to witness such frigidness and colorless landscape even in autumn. This was a cold land. Specifically, it was a northern nation far from the country of Leidenschaftlich, where he, Gilbert Bougainvillea, had vowed to serve.
This country had been an enemy one in the past. He was there, in a military base that served as a deterrent. Copious in mental exhaustion, life in said base was beginning to create a crease between his eyebrows.
The wind hit the window with rattling noises. His gaze incidentally stolen by the remarkably strenuous sounds that the window was making, Gilbert left the fountain pen on his desk for once. He had not made progress with a single line, thus he should have a break or a change of pace. He took a sip of tea that was already becoming cold and heaved a sigh.
Today was his recess, the only day when he was released from military services. A day off, leisure time – the kind of wonderful day when there was no one to bother him. On top of that, he was an unmarried man who had neither a wife nor children. He could do as many things as he wanted on such a day. He could go outside or spend it in self-indulgence in his room. However, he did neither, making effort to do something meaningful instead. Which was to write a letter.
His best friend would have said this: "Y'know, without a just cause like me taking you outside or for the sake of socializing... you immediately turn into a guy who sucks at having fun. Get at least one hobby, I tell you."
Unfortunately, Gilbert did not have hobbies that could be called hobbies.
It might be more fitting to say that he had never had time for finding a hobby. Having been raised by a strictly disciplined family, he had succeeded the inheritances and devoted his youth to the battlefield.
