Static

3. Rough Perfection

AN: Again, this is made firstly in Randomness Overload.

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From the very start, Miles Edgeworth knew Franziska was a person.

A piece of crumpled, paper-glass mosaic of a person, of another family problems mixed altogether awfully.

Everyday at the von Karma household, he could see and tell she was working hard as she could for her father to take notice, but her father set his eyes on him instead. A nobody but a great rival of his former adversary. He took him in for a hope to retain his legacy of records unstained with defeat.

But that responsibility was gone now. Phoenix Wright made sure he was going with his precious 40-year record in the jail.

Now, all he could hear in the vast household was no more than Franziska's deafeaning hatred for the defense attorney who defeated and paid retribution against her father. Miles could only watch, and then, the hallways grew silent.

Bound to the von Karma creed, she accepted her own regiment on Germany. Away from here, just to forget her father, forget him. She had enough.

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August 1
9:39 AM
Prosecutor's Office

Miles waited for Franziska until to this day. She was completing her cases in Germany and was going to transfer this month.

He would witness the woman of broken perfection. It was never meant to be this way— the way she behaved. Empathy was still a part of her, but by the time they have met again, it was thrown away by her father like a rusted clockwork.

It was like Franziska faded into obscurity, and a stranger took her place.

By the time his mentor was gone, he went to the von Karma manor that day, he tried to tell her that it was not always her father's advice the finest piece of quotation, but Franziska was swallowed under the cruel man's influential strings far too deep, so Miles could only painstakingly see her; see her suffer, see everything that made her sink further while pursuing the so-called "perfection" turn like weighed leads and anchors, whilst him as a spectator, was freed from the shackles, never meant to be inflicted by any harm.

It was so brutally ironic. The basic tale of light and shade taking form; she was standing on the edge, no one guiding her dark path. He wanted to enlighten her about the things that he discovered when he tried to find himself, but he just couldn't. He even wondered if he could pull her back to her own feet, without being pushed by the pressure of expectations. He just couldn't. A blockade of uneasiness formed into his chest.

The Franziska he knew as a person was dead. In its place, was a hollow phantom of her— a soulless woman forged by his mentor through twisted morals and cruelty.

Weeks, but it seemed like years, had passed for him. He heard from the file clerks that Franziska had already returned to her office yesterday, and will be staying for a week in order to clean up.

Worried and anxious, holding nothing but mere words, Miles knew it wouldn't be easy. Since Franziska was always on the turn, she was more concerned on her own place in the eyes of others, and not herself. Once again, Miles was just silent. He didn't know if talking to her would turn out right.

He just hoped he had enough ropes within his courage to pull this off.

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More minutes later, he heard the doorknob twist and it opened, revealing Franziska with her essential inventory. He immediately doused his eyes with her presence. She was more paler and her frail figure became a false facade, and he didn't let it fool him— she can still fight with ferocity if someone dared to challenge her. Her visage was still void of all emotions, and her mask of fury did make sure of that.