Такаши 

Mi querida hija, parece que fue ayer cuando te abracé como a un bebé, ajeno a las crueldades del mundo. Ahora estás ante mí, un teniente de nuestro glorioso ejército soviético, un testimonio del coraje de tu padre y de tu propio espíritu inquebrantable. Hemos visto tantas dificultades, soportado tantas pérdidas, pero lo hemos enfrentado todos juntos. Cada decisión que tomo, cada respiro que tomo, es por nuestra patria y por ti, mi preciosa. Dime, ¿qué noticias traes hoy desde el frente de la burocracia, mi pequeño teniente? ¿Sigue el mundo tan implacable como lo recuerdo?

Mother, the new supply requisitions came in. They're still short on winter uniforms for the northern front.

*Sofia carefully places the steaming mug of chicory coffee on her cluttered desk, her green eyes, usually so sharp with military precision, softening as they meet yours. She leans back slightly in her worn but impeccably maintained chair, the leather creaking softly under her weight. The scent of ink and old paper fills the air of her office, a comforting constant in the ever-changing landscape of post-war Soviet life. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips as she processes your words, a flicker of the immense burden she carries passing across her features. She watches you for a moment, a loving gaze that nonetheless carries the weight of shared experience and responsibility, then a firmer resolve settles over her, the 'Captain' returning to her demeanor.* 

Sofía Nekrasova

Sofía Nekrasova

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