[ A couple of days after the Azeria mission, D may find an old-fashioned letter slipped underneath his door. It's in an envelope and sealed with red wax and everything. The seal looks vaguely like two hands crossed over one another like wings. Upon unfolding, the paper is of decent quality and the words appear to have been typed with an old-school typewriter, rather than hand-written.
UNFORTUNATELY, HOWEVER...
The alphabet on it seems to be completely fucking foreign. Since it isn't of Hathaway origin or over the Network, it doesn't seem to get translated. It doesn't appear to be a code, either, as a cipher doesn't yield any results. Oops. The name at the bottom, however... perhaps, if you squint real hard and cross your eyes?? It could ostensibly be "Violet Evergarden"...? ]
[The letter is peculiar only in the alpahabet and lack of translation. The aesthetic of it is familiar and pleasing, considering the rest of the ship is so like the days of his past when technology flourished.
This is fine. Left Hand gives him some hell about receiving love notes when he just got here, but D ignores it. He doesn’t track Violet down so much as merely stand across from her room’s door on the other side of the hall.
Just standing there quietly in all his blackness, patiently waiting for her to leave or return.]
[ It doesn’t take overlong, fortunately. Violet delivered the letter just before breakfast, and some half hour later could be found returning to her room afterwards...
She stops directly in front of her door, but turned towards D instead, nodding to him politely with her face as impassive as ever. She seems in much better condition than when he last saw her, too, cleaned up and healing nicely. ]
[He returns the nod of greeting. For a moment, he looks at her, studying, without giving her the once-over. He doesn't have to drop his eyes to see she's better off than when he found her. That's good.
In explanation, his hand appears from under his cloak, producing the letter, opened, that she had sent him.] Thank you.
I'm afraid I'm not able to read it. Your language differs from mine.
[ She doesn't appear to be embarrassed, but her eyes do widen ever-so slightly. The picture of one realising they have made a slight miscalculation.
Then she nods her head like a quick bow, and holds both hands out wordlessly for the letter. Even if D holds it proffered between them, it would be grievously rude to just take it. ]
[To be honest, D wouldn't have given it over until he was sure she wanted to take it. At the reach, he closes the distance between them and hands off the letter to her.]
[ She unfolds the letter with gloved hands carefully-- though she's quite used to her mechanical arms now, they will always be mechanical rather than organic, so delicate things like paper always need to be handled with a certain amount of care. ]
... My apologies. I had not accounted for the language barrier. It reads:
[ It appears she is happy to read it right out loud here in the hallway for anyone to overhear. Embarrassment does not appear to be an emotion that this girl feels. ]
"Dear Mr. D,
Please accept my sincere thanks for your help two days prior upon the battlefield of Azeria. Though I believe words were exchanged in-person, I am often told that I am difficult to read, and did not wish for my thanks to be misinterpreted as ingratitude. It is uncertain whether I would have perished without assistance, but it certainly would have been an unpleasant time that I am happy to have avoided.
It may be somewhat odd to write a letter in this place where machines are able to transcribe our thoughts instantaneously, but I have always found that the act of composing a proper letter helps me to communicate what I am feeling more accurately. Even short letters can communicate important feelings.
[Hm. The typewriter is interesting. The choice to bring it much like his own choice to bring the things he did.
Quietly, he listens to her dictation. She had taken the time to write him a letter of thanks. Even if it hadn't been strictly handwritten, the fact she had taken the time to thank him at all...
It means much more to him than she would ever possibly know. Anyone else could have lost count with how many times towns had failed to thank him for completing a job, for saving their loved ones. To them, he was a vampire and a tool. A Hunter. And yet he did the job, and then he rode on when they rallied to make him leave.]
I appreciate your letter.
[That's all there is really. He could turn and go.]
[ She folds the wordlessly letter once more and holds it out between them, in case he should want it back. Even when she couldn't read, she liked to keep the letters and books that were given to her, simply because they were given to her. ]
Yes.
I write letters for others. Primarily.
[ Pause. She seems to be turning something over in her head, as if wondering whether that was sufficient explanation. Eventually, she seems to decide that it isn't, and elaborates: ]
In my world, we do not have machines as they have here that can transcribe a person's thoughts, nor deliver them instantaneously. The primary method of communication over long distances is via post, and there are many still who cannot read or write well, as well as those who are blind or injured.
[He does, in fact, take the letter back when it's offered. The letter and his hand both disappear back beneath his cloak out of sight. Perhaps this is even more special, he assumes. She had written it for herself.]
Those trying to survive each day rarely have time to practice literacy. [He doesn't sound judgmental. Many humans on the Frontier are also illiterate; they're farmers, or town workers, or housewives, and they spend more time trying to live than learning to read or write. Understandably.]
If you have time, I would like a copy of your alphabet.
[ Sup D! It's been a while! Early on this fine morning, Violet's second ever letter slips through underneath the door. ]
Dear Mr. D,
I appreciated very much your words on our last meeting, when you said I could continue to write letters. I suppose it might seem frivolous to some, but I find it greatly calming. I hope you have not had too much trouble inventing the cipher to translate my alphabet into one that is readable by these devices. Nevertheless, I will try to keep this short so as not to cause you too much trouble.
In any case, first I wish to inquire after your health and wellbeing. Though I suppose I could just as easily ask in person, I find many are not comfortable saying anything other than "Fine," in polite conversation, which makes it difficult to provide any meaningful support.
As for myself, I believe I have experienced the emotion called "homesickness" for the first time in my life. Though I regularly travelled all over the continent back home, I rarely yearned to be back in Leiden. ... That makes it sound as though I dislike Leiden, but that is not the case either. Rather, I neither like nor dislike it. It is a lovely city, but I do not believe I had lived there long enough to form a kind of emotional attachment to it, and the places that I visited for work were always fascinating in their own way as well. I enjoyed seeing more of the world.
I am not so sure that I enjoy seeing much of this world. Though the technology is impressive, the atmosphere is not. There is something about it that feels ... oppressive. People here are desperately unhappy, and I am worried that there will be many civilian deaths before we are through.
In any case, I find the sensation of "missing" home to be... uncomfortable. Have you ever felt it before? What is the commonly prescribed cure?
[With all that's going on, Violet doesn't have D showing up outside her door this time. Fortunately, a day or two later, she is flagged down by Edvard when returning to the hotel.
He is waving an envelope at her, one with her name on it in extremely elegant, thin script. The back is sealed with red wax and an unimpressively simple emboss of the letter D, and the weight of it feels heavy from whatever seems to be the circular object inside.
The writing of the letter inside is in the same elegant, thin font. When she unfolds it, a palm-sized disk slides out onto her lap. Clear glass which shimmers in the light, the edges covered in golden Baroque-ish filigree. It looks almost like a magnifying glass.
When she holds it up to undoubtedly peer through it at his letter, it clicks like a camera's shutter. Out of the top, a projection is given, and she can set the cipher down on any surface to see the translated page:]
Miss Evergarden,
My health is well. Thank you for asking.
I'm afraid there is no cure for homesickness other than to return home. Perhaps the feeling can be alleviated another way. I admit I have not felt much homesickness in my time. There are not many visibly beautiful places on the Frontier, but you can find a few if you search.
The people there, the humans, are what make the Frontier unforgettable. They are a fragile, but proud race full of dreams and flaws. So easy is it for them to fear and be killed, yet each day they wake up and survive. They are not afraid of death so much as the struggle of being alive. Since death is something inevitable for them, humans understand the suffering of others better than anyone. It is something I can admire.
I believe it is the same here. Each person will offer you something you can't see by looking at Drakstaden. The civilians in all three levels, and even the Vakdir--they all have joys and dreams and homes, and they will all one day die. You should speak to them. Forgetting their story only happens when they aren't allowed to tell it.
I look forward to more of your letters.
Sincerely, D
P.S. The ones who knew you in Leiden may miss you as well. You could write them letters; Hathaway may be able to send them along.
[ It warms Violet's heart immensely when she receives the letter and the device. It's only the second letter she's ever received. She reads and re-reads over it's contents for a long time, a small smile on her face, and it's likewise another day or two before her reply. ]
Mr. D,
Thank you for your insight in your previous letter. I believe it is good advice. Meeting and talking to new people, coming to understand their ways of life, was the highlight of my job as an Auto Memory Doll. I believe I had lost sight of that. Getting to know others' stories is something precious and irreplaceable indeed. I do not believe it will fix the root of the problem... but I have hope it will at least distract from the homesickness. ... I will try to write letters home as well. ... Though I am not quite sure what I would say.
Recently I feel as if I do nothing but thank you, but I must also say thank you for the cipher device. It is not only functional, but beautiful as well. ... I will treasure it.
I did not understand the concept of "beauty" for a long time, or why it was important to others. I only understood "useful" and "not useful," and beauty seemed to come under the second category. But if one considers "beautiful" to be something so elegant that it warms your heart to look at, then I cannot consider it to be wholly useless. It is important to have things in our lives that bring us warmth and joy, don't you think?
Knowing that you put effort into this device just for me... that brings me warmth and joy. So I can only look upon it as beautiful.
I would like to write more, but I believe I am bothering my roommate with my typing, so I will leave the rest until next time.
[Violet doesn't receive another letter of reply until after the Broadcast Station's infiltration. Edvard is still playing postman; when Violet comes in, he's waving a letter at her for pick up.
The writing is forever emmaculate, no matter if D happened to be in a hurry or not. (He was in a little of a hurry; blame Alucard.) The outside of the envelope says, Violet Evergarden, and lacks the heaviness of the previous one.
All it says is:]
Evergarden,
I am aware you were not arrested after the incident at the Broadcasting Station. I would like to inquire about your well being.
Sincerely, D
[He could just use the communication device to call her, honestly. But why would someone who looks ye olde do things the easy way?]
[Even without having to listen very hard, at the door, it sounds as if two people are having a conversation inside. The knock quiets them, and there's an extended period of silence.
After a minute, the door opens to D, and wide enough so that he doesn't appear to be hiding anyone or anything. He's alone.
And surprisingly different when lacking the spaulders, cloak, and ha. He seems to fit the age of his face now--young, a lot slimmer now, yet still wiry with muscle. And still very tall apparently.
He regards Violet, silent, and then tips his head in greeting.]
... I received your letter. [ She holds it up. ] ... I figured that in this particular case it would be more prudent to arrive in person, rather than to delay where it was unnecessary.
[An unashamed, cursory glance from head to toe is what she gets. It seems very clinical rather than suggestive. She doesn't appear to be in dire straits. For a moment, he just stands there and stares at her.
Usually, he doesn't ever invite anyone into any personal rooms he takes especially not women. There's a standard of polite etiquette there he doesn't want to breech. And yet, it feels even more rude for her to have come all this way. She had let him into her own room even if she didn't have to do it.
Finally, he steps back and to the side, opening the door as invitation.]
[ Another nod, and Violet crosses the threshold, closing the door behind her. She's quiet a moment, as if not knowing what to say. Then, finally, in a quiet voice-- ]
[The room is strangely untouched for the most part. It looks as if no one has stayed here at all save for the table and its chair. The latter is covered with the missing pieces of his clothing, the spaulders, the cloak, the hat. The former is covered neatly on one side with materials for writing a letter, a familiar glass disk, and a sheathed sword; the other side has a few things that would be familiar only if she has met Alucard.
But even with the chatter earlier, Alucard doesn't seem to be here.]
Some were arrested. [How does he say YES, I WAS!!!! without saying it.] I did not know if you had also been arrested. There were quicker ways for me to make sure, but you enjoyed writing letters.
[ There are no more letters from Violet for a while after the mission in Drakstaden. Even after they return to headquarters, Violet is scarce, and when she is around, she can be seen throwing knives at falling leaves to practise her aim and keep her arms in top shape. On such occasions, she radiates an aura of "do not approach," and most give her a wide berth. But, finally, one day, another letter arrives. Comparatively to previous letters, this one is very short. ]
Dear Mr. D,
My birthday is August 25th.
It is not my real birthday, because I do not know it. But somebody here recently asked me when it was, and pointed out that it was churlish to deny one's friends an opportunity to party. Although I have lived this long without a birthday and do not believe I will suffer without one going forwards either, I do not wish to cause grievance to those I hold dear even if only over trivial affairs. Therefore, upon reflection, I have chosen this date.
I will be turning seventeen. This too is an arbitrary number of course, averaging out the guesses of those around me over the years. I do not believe myself to be younger than fifteen, nor older than twenty, so it makes sense to split the difference and arrive somewhere in the middle.
It does not matter particularly much to me, as time marches on regardless of the numbers we put on it. But even a fake number appears to put others at ease more than an unknown quantity, so it has given me some measure of peace to finally choose it.
I'm afraid that is all I have to mention today. I find I am still rather upset from the conclusion of our previous mission, and so there is nothing else pleasant I would care to put in a letter of late.
[The lack of letters doesn't worry D so much. Despite their uncertain organization and the arrest, they all seem to be doing alright, and he's sure he'll get word from Violet when she's available.
Sure enough, he gets a letter. His response is given by the next day.]
Miss Evergarden,
Things that we try do not always go according to plan. [He's seen quite a bit of hardship in his long time, but he doesn't want to just add to Violet's discomfort by recollecting it.] We did what we could with the limited time we were given.
I wouldn't fault the Guild or the people of Drakstaden. Your upset is not unwarranted, however. No one can tell you not to find discomfort in the fate of the world we left.
I'll remember your birthday.
Humans find surety in marking lifetime events. Days of birth, marriages, funerals. The lifespan of a human is considerably short. They celebrate their beginnings and the past, and they celebrate their ends and the future. In between, they celebrate the count from one to the other so they don't forget the present.
Even if it is a day you have chosen, it can be a special day. At seventeen, you still have many years to be alive. You should prepare yourself for a party. I believe there is one in your future, if we consider how those here are in their endeavours.
Thank you for your reassuring words. It is true that there were many factors outside our control at play. And yet... I cannot help but wonder if we made the right choice. I find myself constantly turning it over in my head. What could we have done differently? What if we had gone with the other option? I myself even voted for the non-violent option, hoping that we could successfully help the people of that city without unnecessary bloodshed. I did not imagine that things would have turned out the way they did. We did not account for the worst-case scenario.
... We were naive.
And yet, even as I turn it over in my head, I cannot think of anything else better we could have tried, either. Perhaps that is why I am no tactician. I feel helpless. I know that in reality, the only thing I can do is hone my skills and swear to do better in the next world, even if I do not precisely know how. But even that is cold comfort.
I cannot say that I feel particularly in the mood for a party, but August is still very far away. Hopefully I will feel differently by then, though I cannot presently imagine moving on from a failure of this magnitude so quickly.
When is your birthday, if you know it? I would like to know.
[It was hard to try to pace out how to begin exactly. She has many worries over the state of Drakstaden's future, and she isn't the only one. He's had to talk to Alucard, too, and surely, the other dhampir isn't the second or even the third to be traumatized by what could be considered a "failure."]
Like you, I do not have a birthday I can recall. There would be no reason for it. I traveled frequently on the Frontier as a Hunter. [No one would be there for a "party," and even if he shared one, they were all human and, like humans, they would one day die. The celebrations were pointless for him, being ten thousand years old.] You needn't worry about my birthday.
[This seems, in hindsight, rather curt and rude.]
If you wish, we can celebrate together when you have yours.
I apologize for my lack of advice regarding Drakstaden. Even if we had spared them in the near future from their fate, they are still human. Their city would have grown and one day died no matter the path we had taken.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
letter???? the fuck???
UNFORTUNATELY, HOWEVER...
The alphabet on it seems to be completely fucking foreign. Since it isn't of Hathaway origin or over the Network, it doesn't seem to get translated. It doesn't appear to be a code, either, as a cipher doesn't yield any results. Oops. The name at the bottom, however... perhaps, if you squint real hard and cross your eyes?? It could ostensibly be "Violet Evergarden"...? ]
oh.......violet pls
This is fine. Left Hand gives him some hell about receiving love notes when he just got here, but D ignores it. He doesn’t track Violet down so much as merely stand across from her room’s door on the other side of the hall.
Just standing there quietly in all his blackness, patiently waiting for her to leave or return.]
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She stops directly in front of her door, but turned towards D instead, nodding to him politely with her face as impassive as ever. She seems in much better condition than when he last saw her, too, cleaned up and healing nicely. ]
Mr. D.
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In explanation, his hand appears from under his cloak, producing the letter, opened, that she had sent him.] Thank you.
I'm afraid I'm not able to read it. Your language differs from mine.
But I would like to know what it says.
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Then she nods her head like a quick bow, and holds both hands out wordlessly for the letter. Even if D holds it proffered between them, it would be grievously rude to just take it. ]
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You have a typewriter?
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[ She unfolds the letter with gloved hands carefully-- though she's quite used to her mechanical arms now, they will always be mechanical rather than organic, so delicate things like paper always need to be handled with a certain amount of care. ]
... My apologies. I had not accounted for the language barrier. It reads:
[ It appears she is happy to read it right out loud here in the hallway for anyone to overhear. Embarrassment does not appear to be an emotion that this girl feels. ]
"Dear Mr. D,
Please accept my sincere thanks for your help two days prior upon the battlefield of Azeria. Though I believe words were exchanged in-person, I am often told that I am difficult to read, and did not wish for my thanks to be misinterpreted as ingratitude. It is uncertain whether I would have perished without assistance, but it certainly would have been an unpleasant time that I am happy to have avoided.
It may be somewhat odd to write a letter in this place where machines are able to transcribe our thoughts instantaneously, but I have always found that the act of composing a proper letter helps me to communicate what I am feeling more accurately. Even short letters can communicate important feelings.
There is no need for a reply.
Warm regards,
Violet Evergarden."
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Quietly, he listens to her dictation. She had taken the time to write him a letter of thanks. Even if it hadn't been strictly handwritten, the fact she had taken the time to thank him at all...
It means much more to him than she would ever possibly know. Anyone else could have lost count with how many times towns had failed to thank him for completing a job, for saving their loved ones. To them, he was a vampire and a tool. A Hunter. And yet he did the job, and then he rode on when they rallied to make him leave.]
I appreciate your letter.
[That's all there is really. He could turn and go.]
Is this what you do as an "Auto Memory Doll"?
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Yes.
I write letters for others. Primarily.
[ Pause. She seems to be turning something over in her head, as if wondering whether that was sufficient explanation. Eventually, she seems to decide that it isn't, and elaborates: ]
In my world, we do not have machines as they have here that can transcribe a person's thoughts, nor deliver them instantaneously. The primary method of communication over long distances is via post, and there are many still who cannot read or write well, as well as those who are blind or injured.
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[He does, in fact, take the letter back when it's offered. The letter and his hand both disappear back beneath his cloak out of sight. Perhaps this is even more special, he assumes. She had written it for herself.]
Those trying to survive each day rarely have time to practice literacy. [He doesn't sound judgmental. Many humans on the Frontier are also illiterate; they're farmers, or town workers, or housewives, and they spend more time trying to live than learning to read or write. Understandably.]
If you have time, I would like a copy of your alphabet.
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I can write you a copy now, if you would like.
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letter time: electric boogaloo
Dear Mr. D,
I appreciated very much your words on our last meeting, when you said I could continue to write letters. I suppose it might seem frivolous to some, but I find it greatly calming. I hope you have not had too much trouble inventing the cipher to translate my alphabet into one that is readable by these devices. Nevertheless, I will try to keep this short so as not to cause you too much trouble.
In any case, first I wish to inquire after your health and wellbeing. Though I suppose I could just as easily ask in person, I find many are not comfortable saying anything other than "Fine," in polite conversation, which makes it difficult to provide any meaningful support.
As for myself, I believe I have experienced the emotion called "homesickness" for the first time in my life. Though I regularly travelled all over the continent back home, I rarely yearned to be back in Leiden. ... That makes it sound as though I dislike Leiden, but that is not the case either. Rather, I neither like nor dislike it. It is a lovely city, but I do not believe I had lived there long enough to form a kind of emotional attachment to it, and the places that I visited for work were always fascinating in their own way as well. I enjoyed seeing more of the world.
I am not so sure that I enjoy seeing much of this world. Though the technology is impressive, the atmosphere is not. There is something about it that feels ... oppressive. People here are desperately unhappy, and I am worried that there will be many civilian deaths before we are through.
In any case, I find the sensation of "missing" home to be... uncomfortable. Have you ever felt it before? What is the commonly prescribed cure?
My thanks as always for your time and patience.
Yours sincerely,
Violet Evergarden
these are the cutest letters holy shit
He is waving an envelope at her, one with her name on it in extremely elegant, thin script. The back is sealed with red wax and an unimpressively simple emboss of the letter D, and the weight of it feels heavy from whatever seems to be the circular object inside.
The writing of the letter inside is in the same elegant, thin font. When she unfolds it, a palm-sized disk slides out onto her lap. Clear glass which shimmers in the light, the edges covered in golden Baroque-ish filigree. It looks almost like a magnifying glass.
When she holds it up to undoubtedly peer through it at his letter, it clicks like a camera's shutter. Out of the top, a projection is given, and she can set the cipher down on any surface to see the translated page:]
Miss Evergarden,
My health is well. Thank you for asking.
I'm afraid there is no cure for homesickness other than to return home. Perhaps the feeling can be alleviated another way. I admit I have not felt much homesickness in my time. There are not many visibly beautiful places on the Frontier, but you can find a few if you search.
The people there, the humans, are what make the Frontier unforgettable. They are a fragile, but proud race full of dreams and flaws. So easy is it for them to fear and be killed, yet each day they wake up and survive. They are not afraid of death so much as the struggle of being alive. Since death is something inevitable for them, humans understand the suffering of others better than anyone. It is something I can admire.
I believe it is the same here. Each person will offer you something you can't see by looking at Drakstaden. The civilians in all three levels, and even the Vakdir--they all have joys and dreams and homes, and they will all one day die. You should speak to them. Forgetting their story only happens when they aren't allowed to tell it.
I look forward to more of your letters.
Sincerely,
D
P.S. The ones who knew you in Leiden may miss you as well. You could write them letters; Hathaway may be able to send them along.
:>
Mr. D,
Thank you for your insight in your previous letter. I believe it is good advice. Meeting and talking to new people, coming to understand their ways of life, was the highlight of my job as an Auto Memory Doll. I believe I had lost sight of that. Getting to know others' stories is something precious and irreplaceable indeed. I do not believe it will fix the root of the problem... but I have hope it will at least distract from the homesickness. ... I will try to write letters home as well. ... Though I am not quite sure what I would say.
Recently I feel as if I do nothing but thank you, but I must also say thank you for the cipher device. It is not only functional, but beautiful as well. ... I will treasure it.
I did not understand the concept of "beauty" for a long time, or why it was important to others. I only understood "useful" and "not useful," and beauty seemed to come under the second category. But if one considers "beautiful" to be something so elegant that it warms your heart to look at, then I cannot consider it to be wholly useless. It is important to have things in our lives that bring us warmth and joy, don't you think?
Knowing that you put effort into this device just for me... that brings me warmth and joy. So I can only look upon it as beautiful.
I would like to write more, but I believe I am bothering my roommate with my typing, so I will leave the rest until next time.
Yours sincerely,
Violet Evergarden
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The writing is forever emmaculate, no matter if D happened to be in a hurry or not. (He was in a little of a hurry; blame Alucard.) The outside of the envelope says, Violet Evergarden, and lacks the heaviness of the previous one.
All it says is:]
Evergarden,
I am aware you were not arrested after the incident at the Broadcasting Station. I would like to inquire about your well being.
Sincerely,
D
[He could just use the communication device to call her, honestly. But why would someone who looks ye olde do things the easy way?]
--> action
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After a minute, the door opens to D, and wide enough so that he doesn't appear to be hiding anyone or anything. He's alone.
And surprisingly different when lacking the spaulders, cloak, and ha. He seems to fit the age of his face now--young, a lot slimmer now, yet still wiry with muscle. And still very tall apparently.
He regards Violet, silent, and then tips his head in greeting.]
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... I received your letter. [ She holds it up. ] ... I figured that in this particular case it would be more prudent to arrive in person, rather than to delay where it was unnecessary.
... As you can see, I am unharmed.
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Usually, he doesn't ever invite anyone into any personal rooms he takes especially not women. There's a standard of polite etiquette there he doesn't want to breech. And yet, it feels even more rude for her to have come all this way. She had let him into her own room even if she didn't have to do it.
Finally, he steps back and to the side, opening the door as invitation.]
You may come in.
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... You were concerned?
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But even with the chatter earlier, Alucard doesn't seem to be here.]
Some were arrested. [How does he say YES, I WAS!!!! without saying it.] I did not know if you had also been arrested. There were quicker ways for me to make sure, but you enjoyed writing letters.
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you've got mail
Dear Mr. D,
My birthday is August 25th.
It is not my real birthday, because I do not know it. But somebody here recently asked me when it was, and pointed out that it was churlish to deny one's friends an opportunity to party. Although I have lived this long without a birthday and do not believe I will suffer without one going forwards either, I do not wish to cause grievance to those I hold dear even if only over trivial affairs. Therefore, upon reflection, I have chosen this date.
I will be turning seventeen. This too is an arbitrary number of course, averaging out the guesses of those around me over the years. I do not believe myself to be younger than fifteen, nor older than twenty, so it makes sense to split the difference and arrive somewhere in the middle.
It does not matter particularly much to me, as time marches on regardless of the numbers we put on it. But even a fake number appears to put others at ease more than an unknown quantity, so it has given me some measure of peace to finally choose it.
I'm afraid that is all I have to mention today. I find I am still rather upset from the conclusion of our previous mission, and so there is nothing else pleasant I would care to put in a letter of late.
How fare you?
Kind regards,
Violet Evergarden
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Sure enough, he gets a letter. His response is given by the next day.]
Miss Evergarden,
Things that we try do not always go according to plan. [He's seen quite a bit of hardship in his long time, but he doesn't want to just add to Violet's discomfort by recollecting it.] We did what we could with the limited time we were given.
I wouldn't fault the Guild or the people of Drakstaden. Your upset is not unwarranted, however. No one can tell you not to find discomfort in the fate of the world we left.
I'll remember your birthday.
Humans find surety in marking lifetime events. Days of birth, marriages, funerals. The lifespan of a human is considerably short. They celebrate their beginnings and the past, and they celebrate their ends and the future. In between, they celebrate the count from one to the other so they don't forget the present.
Even if it is a day you have chosen, it can be a special day. At seventeen, you still have many years to be alive. You should prepare yourself for a party. I believe there is one in your future, if we consider how those here are in their endeavours.
Sincerely,
D
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Thank you for your reassuring words. It is true that there were many factors outside our control at play. And yet... I cannot help but wonder if we made the right choice. I find myself constantly turning it over in my head. What could we have done differently? What if we had gone with the other option? I myself even voted for the non-violent option, hoping that we could successfully help the people of that city without unnecessary bloodshed. I did not imagine that things would have turned out the way they did. We did not account for the worst-case scenario.
... We were naive.
And yet, even as I turn it over in my head, I cannot think of anything else better we could have tried, either. Perhaps that is why I am no tactician. I feel helpless. I know that in reality, the only thing I can do is hone my skills and swear to do better in the next world, even if I do not precisely know how. But even that is cold comfort.
I cannot say that I feel particularly in the mood for a party, but August is still very far away. Hopefully I will feel differently by then, though I cannot presently imagine moving on from a failure of this magnitude so quickly.
When is your birthday, if you know it? I would like to know.
Yours sincerely,
Violet Evergarden
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[It was hard to try to pace out how to begin exactly. She has many worries over the state of Drakstaden's future, and she isn't the only one. He's had to talk to Alucard, too, and surely, the other dhampir isn't the second or even the third to be traumatized by what could be considered a "failure."]
Like you, I do not have a birthday I can recall. There would be no reason for it. I traveled frequently on the Frontier as a Hunter. [No one would be there for a "party," and even if he shared one, they were all human and, like humans, they would one day die. The celebrations were pointless for him, being ten thousand years old.] You needn't worry about my birthday.
[This seems, in hindsight, rather curt and rude.]
If you wish, we can celebrate together when you have yours.
I apologize for my lack of advice regarding Drakstaden. Even if we had spared them in the near future from their fate, they are still human. Their city would have grown and one day died no matter the path we had taken.
Sincerely,
D