Author's Note
Now, originally, this was the beginning of another one-shot, but somehow, I found (ironically while listening to the "Great Revival" instrumental piece) that it just didn't fit. I hate to waste such a piece of writing, even if it is so short so here we are. - Hopefully, my readers enjoy the rather intense and fascinating change of pace.
Keep Reading, Writing, and Reviewing,
Serah
Rebirthing
Miles Edgeworth was once known to the world at large as the Demon Prosecutor. The nickname was actually bestowed upon him behind his back by his colleagues, who must have thought him deaf to their utterances and whispers. It traveled by word of mouth then to the Medias, and almost literally overnight, it had become a label- his label- just like those little white stubs one would find on the back of their shirts.
At the time, a younger Miles, fresh from the strict teachings of his murderous late mentor, had simply not cared. Everywhere he went- whether he was standing behind the bench in court, on business in the police precinct thirty minutes from the Prosecutor's Building, filing a newly-completed file away in the records room, or even taking his pet dog, Pess, for an after-work stroll down Los Angeles' People's Park, he heard the name- Demon Prosecutor this, Demon Prosecutor that. It was normal for men to glare at him, it was normal for young women to see him and suddenly become pink in the face, it was normal to see himself in the news every night, and it was normal to be the Demon Prosecutor society saw and labeled him so easily as.
Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death.
Despite the dramatics the message held, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth had chosen death. He had chosen- with the help of a certain, spiked-haired friend- to do away with his unnecessary mask of cold, brilliant superiority, to do away with that god-awful smirk he used to strut about wearing... Miles Edgeworth had chosen to do away, once and for all, to do away with the Demon Prosecutor.
The Miles Edgeworth that had taken the place of that Demon Prosecutor- that Miles Edgeworth of the present smiles- in fact, this Miles Edgeworth laughs and jests! This Miles Edgeworth had become peaceful, accepting towards imperfections- those of the people around him, and accepting of his own imperfections, too. This Miles Edgeworth had come to learn how to respect differences of opinions, had come to learn how to deal with harsh judgment and deconstructive criticism with more than a dismissive bat of one of his stormy grey eyes. This Miles Edgeworth- the Miles Edgeworth of the now- he no longer hunted down and persecuted any criminal that had the misfortune to land on his caseload with any and all means he deemed necessary, legally or illegally; instead, this Miles Edgeworth all but defended those criminals placed on the witness stand. This Miles Edgeworth would depend on his partner, that same spike-haired Defense Attorney, his friend, to help him discover the truth.
That simple idea was the reason Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth still lived; because of the knowledge that, in a court of law, where the lives of the guilty and the lives of the innocent are on the line, nothing else matters but the simple, sworn-by-almighty-god truth. The truth was sacred- perhaps holy!- because the truth dictated the verdict and guided the innocent to salvation and the guilty to their gallows. It was that so-very-fragile life-line that had saved Miles Edgeworth from the deepest pits of Hell itself- it was what allowed his heart to thaw- that allowed him to heal.
And it was the simplest of truths that allowed Miles Edgeworth to sleep soundly every night.