"Everybody knows that everybody dies. But not every day. Not today.
Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed.
Some days, nobody dies at all."

~ Doctor Who ~

The day Gilbert Bougainvillea met Violet Evergarden has forever been seared into his memory. She'd been a waif of child with dead eyes and a sickly figure. Yet, child she was, deserving of the love and care owed to all God's creatures.

His brother, however, could not see this. Could not see the diamond for the coal, and so casually and cruelly tossed her his way. And Gilbert was left the only person to see not who she was, but who she could become.

You can't treat a child like that! A...weapon? Alright, I'll take her.

He was always giving her orders. From the first moment he'd taken her in to their last; nearly every sentence he'd uttered was some form of an order.

You'll catch a cold. You have to use a blanket.

You'll be staying here. Don't move until I get back.

Violet, don't be a tool. You should become someone who matches that name.

Well meaning enough, true, but orders none the less. Even his attempts to help her improve herself, to gain skills outside the military, devolved into nothing but a series of tasks and the order to complete them.

It's well written. From now on I want you to hand in a daily report to help you practice your writing. Understood?

It was his own fault, he knew. It had started as a tool, a way to get her to move. To react. Slowly, however, it became a crutch. A safe way to communicate with the girl he was slowly falling in lo-

There's a thanksgiving tradition here in Matchig to give gifts to those you are thankful to. Violet, is there anything that you want? Tell me something that you want.

-well, in the end he did try to communicate. To get across his feelings. If not with words-she never understood words-then with actions.

It's not an order. I want to express my thanks to you.

He'd thought she'd understood. Even a little, just a bit. She'd chosen the brooch that matched his eyes, after all.

Eyes that she so openly called "beautiful" as if such a word didn't feel like an arrow through his heart. Of course, she hadn't understood, not in the way he'd hoped. And she'd never understand while trapped in the illusion that she was merely a tool.

You have feelings! You have a heart, just like me! If you don't...then why are you reacting that way? You're capable of expressions! You're scared of me right now, aren't you? You don't like being yelled at, right? You're angry that I'm being unfair to you?! Stop lying!

Gilbert still cringed at his reaction. He hadn't been rejected, not truly, but it had felt like a rejection all the same. And worse a rejection not because she did not return his feelings but beacuse she was so utterly ignorant to his feelings, and her own, as to deem them inconsequential.

It tore him in half to watch her live like that. Worse so when he knew it was his fault.

I'm sorry. But it's painful for me...to see that you view yourself as a tool. Because I'm the one who made you this way, but you still, you still put your trust in me.

Of course it would figure that the one time she finally got around to disobeying his orders, to thinking for her self, would be the one time he wanted her to obey.

Save yourself! Leave me here! ...leave me here.

He'd never seen that look in her eyes before. Her determination burned him from a distance, gave him courage to say things he'd sworn to take to his grave.

Gave him courage, even, to avoid his grave.

Stop! You have to live! Violet, you have to live. Be free. From the bottom of my heart...I love you.

It was a miracle, a miracle in every sense of the word. The blast had knocked him unconscious, had torn his dog tags from his neck and shirt from his body. Had thrown him 20 meters away from the fort and broken multiple bones.

But, it had not killed him.

Miracle still, neither had his wounds. To this day he would always be thankful to those Galdarik doctors. They'd had no reason to treat him and his lack of id tags or an army uniform were perhaps the flimsiest of excuses as to why they could. No, in the end they were simply kind, the best type of doctors, the ones who believed in providing aid to anyone regardless of background.

And so, here he was, nearly two years after the battle of Intense staring down at the letter his brother had sent him (he was the easiest of his family to get a hold of):

"I am sure," it read, "that you are worrying yourself sick over your dog. Don't bother, she is in good health. In fact, her spirits are such that she may yet surprise you, brother. She has taken your advice (yes, she no longer views it as an order, can you imagine?) and is currently employed at the CH Postal Company. I suggest you try your luck there."

Gilbert's hands shook at the thought. He had always hoped Violet had survived, but he'd never been sure, never had an oppurtunity to check confined as he'd been in the Galdarik hospital. It wasn't until the peace accords had been signed that he'd even felt safe enough to begin making his journey back.

For her to not just have survived, but to have lived as he'd orde-no, asked-her to? This was beyond his wildest dreams. Well, almost, because if Gilbert was being honest with himself (and he did try to be honest) then his wildest dreams were not for her to live, but to live by his side.

A thought which brought a blush to his cheeks every time he read his brothers salutation.

"Good Luck, brother. Sincerely, Dietfried.

P.S. Mother approves."

Well, that was good news. Now he just needed to get Violet to approve.

Hopefully he could hold on to his courage just a little bit longer.

I want to say, "I love you."

俺は「愛してる」と言たい