Ummm...Welll...it's about Miles and Franziska when they were kids... typical Manfred beating people that are not perfect. Pretty angst and dark. Also, it's my first AA fic.
Not MilesxFranziska, though.
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Dark.
Cold.
Hard floor.
Solitary confinement to make one reflect what one has done.
Not entirely uncomfortable.
Miles stood up strait and lifted his head. He would not let this man have take away anything more. This man, Manfred von Karma, took away almost everything he had: his home, his beliefs, his childhood, and his friend. Miles no longer believed in trust anymore. He no longer believed in the truth. Just winning. Perfection.
'The truth is perfect; therefore, the perfect is truth' was the logic.
Like any prosecutor, von Karma held the truth to be of utmost importance, but how he found truth was through perfection. Anything that was not perfect, thus was not true, did not deserve recognition and must be brought down by any means necessary.
Nobody is perfect, Miles knew that, but showing that one is not perfect is…almost deadly in the von Karma household.
And Miles did just that; he showed his imperfections. Before he could reminisce what happened, the door opened, the brilliant light shone in on the dark chamber. Already? Miles though. It hasn't been that long…Perhaps only five minutes, an hour, or even a day alone; nevertheless, the time spent alone did not feel that long.
An imposing silhouette blocked the light from coming in. Miles's eyes adjusted to see the figure—only to find out it was the man himself: Manfred von Karma.
"I hope you thought over what you have done, Miles Edgeworth."
A pause.
"I did, Sir," Miles replied.
"And I'm sure you will not make that same mistake again," von Karma said.
"No, Sir."
Another pause.
"You do not seem remorseful to me," the 'flawless' prosecutor said. "Clearly your time spent here did nothing."
Von Karma turned to leave. In this instant, Miles panicked.
"S-Sir! Wait!" he said desperately.
Von Karma looked over his shoulder at the child. A sly smile crept on his face. "Yes?"
Miles regained his composure. What had he just done? While alone, Miles promised to himself that this evil man would not take anything more away from him, including an 'I'm sorry.'
Von Karma frowned. "Your pride is a great flaw, Miles Edgeworth. Too much, too much. I shall wipe out that content look on your face." And then von Karma slapped him across the cheek.
Miles stood there, the stinging pain increasing with every second. No! Miles restrained himself from crying out. Instead, he glared at his so-called mentor.
Von Karma scowled.
For a moment, the two were locked in a battle of wits; neither one made to look away. Then—
"Franziska!" von Karma called his youngest daughter.
"…Yes, Papa?" the three-year old responded hesitantly, appearing in the doorway.
Von Karma broke the staring contest and knelt down to look Franziska in the face.
"Here," von Karma reached into his coat and pulled out a leather whip.
Franziska did not move.
"Take it," the father commanded.
She obliged, feeling the cool leather on her smooth palms. Von Karma pushed her into the room so that she was standing next to Miles. Smirking, he closed and locked the door.
It was understood what was to happen. A whip and someone who broke the von Karma rule of perfection. Obvious. Logical.
Miles backed away slowly from Franziska. How to get out of this mess?
He thought fiercely. Franziska was only three while he was nine, plus, he was about twice the size of the little girl standing by the door. Advantages, no doubt. He could easily force the whip from Franziska's tiny hands.
Miles stopped backing away, leaning forward a little to put his plan into action. Too late it seemed. Franziska had already raised the whip, gripping it tightly and pulling it expertly to ensure the most would come out of the proceeding strike. Miles instinctively put his hands over his head.
TLTLTLTLTLTL
A sharp crack, and then a scream.
Manfred von Karma was already ten yards away from the chamber, but he still heard the countless strikes and shrills that came through the heavy door.
And he smiled.
TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL
Miles cowered from the whip. I will not scream. I will not cry. I will not lose to him. He will not win!!!
A cry rang throughout the desolate chamber. And another. And other. With each subsequent whip, a yell.
Miles carefully looked up from his position, realizing that it was not he who made the cries. His eyes widened in shock as grasped what was going on in the dark chamber.
"Franziska—stop!!" he yelled.
The beating continued.
Miles couldn't get close because he was still to afraid of the leather whip that was flailing dangerously about her. Miles watched helplessly as the little girl hurt herself. Blood and tears mixed as Franziska whipped all over her own body. Mark upon mark formed scars that would never go away. She grabbed the whip so tightly that calluses fromed on her once soft palms. The blisters popped, showing the raw skin underneath while blood flowed from them.
Miles stood watching. W…why? "WHY?" he cried, "Stop it, Franziska! This is insane! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"
She did not stop then, but after some time, she could not longer physically handle anymore. The girl let the whip crack one last time before she let it go. Almost in slow motion, she fell.
Miles caught her limp body. "Oh God, Franziska!" He wiped her sweaty silver bangs from her face. Her eyes were open, crying. Good, Miles thought, at least she's not unconscious. Carefully, he laid her on his lap. She whimpered.
Still a toddler, but brilliant, nonetheless. Not a genius, like father or himself, but brilliant in a different way. She already had skipped to the same grade as Miles, already had won her first mock trial, and already learned so much. She never stopped asking questions. Namely, Cicero's De inventione: Quid, Quis, Quomodo, Quando, Ubi, and, her favorite, Cur. Why.
Manfred, however, favored Quis. Who. Who did it? The defendant, no doubt. The defendant must be--no--is guilty. Soon, Miles knew, Manfred's influence would dominate Franziska's thinking. 'Ratio in lege summa justitia est; Reason is the hightest justice in law' would be no more in the von Karma's mind.
But she was no prodigy in that way, Miles knew. No, Franziska would never be the procecuter her father would have dreamt her to be. Franziska was too… forward thinking, in a way that viewed the truth as the truth and nothing but the truth.
This belief would be suppressed, but sooner or later her subconsicoues desire to seek the truth would be her "perfection"'s downfall. Franziska was trying to suppress this desire, though, because she wanted so badly impress her father.
When Franziska's sobbing died down, Miles thought it was the right time to ask questions.
"Franziska…why did you do that?" Miles asked. "Why for me?"
"D-don't be ridiculous M-miles," she said in a raspy voice. "It…it wasn't for y-you."
A lie, Miles knew. She was suppressing her true feeling. The truth was there, but deep inside her subconscious.
"I don't want to speak to 'Franziska von Karma,'" Miles said. "I want to talk to you."
The little girl whimpered. You can do it, Miles thought, beat you father. Don't lose to him. Don't fear him. A minute passed. I have to dig deeper.
"Franziska, you really hurt yourself. You can't deny that."
There was no response.
"You didn't want to take the whip from your father," Miles pointed out. "Don't make up an excuse that it was just because that it's the rebellious instinct kids have."
Still no response.
"I asked you to stop, but you didn't," Miles continued. "'Because why would I listen to you anyway?' is what you would say, but that's wrong. You continued because you knew your father was still out there."
Franziska sniffled.
"I know that my argument is weak, and I know that if you were in a better condition you'd argue back, but I still can't help but feel that this action of your was not for personal gain," Miles whispered to her. "I just want an explanation."
The two stayed in their positions for a couple minutes, the only noise heard was the painful breathing Franziska gave.
"I…I…I…," Fransika stuttered. "It—it's not fair...for you…"
Miles let out a slight gasp when he finally heard her speak. He did not bet that she would actually talk.
"My papa…i-is wrong. S-so terribly wrong, M-Miles," Franziska said, her voice barely audible. "He w-warps everything… a twisted version of justice...y-you have to stop h-him because…because I-I can't."
Miles finally realized how insecure Franziska was. Her older sister did not have this problem because Manfred back then was not as ruthless as he was now. The older sister grew up with a…perfect…childhood. When Manfred turned to his less-than-righteous ways, he got the notion that this older sister was a flaw in the bloodline. Franziska's birth, it seems, was solely to accommodate for this imperfection. Miles knew that Franziska was thinking this. He also knew that she felt trapped and that her only choice was to follow her father's footsteps.
"You can fight this, Franziska," Miles said, but knew that it was pointless to try. Franziska skriwmed in his arms. It seemed that she didn't want to look at him anymore.
"I'm a-already down...so it does n-not matter…what happens t-to me now…," she said, her face turned away. "B-but you…you, Miles Edgeworth…can do something…"
"And I shall," Miles reassured her. He saw a faint, but relieved smile play across her lips.
"Just…when it's all over…," Franziska said, turning to him again so that their eyes locked. "Miles Edgeworth…please, will you help me?"
The only time she'll ever ask for help, Miles thought. "Yes…of course I will, Franziska."