She could've done worse than three years due to accessory to murder.

Considering the circumstances, Iris Hawthorne couldn't say she was entirely pleased with a minimum sentence, but it was definitely better than she'd ever hoped.

Nor could she say that those three years went by quickly. The first few days certainly did. They took everything she ever owned, and even though that amounted to a cell phone, a bus pass, one credit card, and the clothes on her back, parting with them left a hollow in her chest that ached as the blue-uniformed guards escorted her to her cell.

The prison uniform vaguely reminded her of medical scrubs, if only that the shirts were oversized and boxy in cut, and felt like they were made from a similar material. They were button-down and a pale blue, made from a scratchy material that acted like insulation, clutching heat against her skin; in that sense, they were similar to her uniform from Hazakura.

Phoenix, Maya, and Pearl came to see her on the second day. When he visited again, he was alone. "It was so sweet of you and everyone else to visit me the other day," she said. "Of course, I was happy that you constantly had your eyes on me, but… I felt kind of bad when the little one slapped you so hard you got a nosebleed."

He shook his head. "I deserved it."

"She really does look up to your loyalty to Ms. Fey," Iris said.

Phoenix sighed. It was long, drawn-out, and echoed the feeling in her own lungs, an exhalation Iris barely held back. "I think she saw what I was thinking. I've never been good at hiding it. My eyes always give it away."

"You're so honest, Feenie. You'll make me blush."
"Don't misunderstand." He stood. "You're the woman I always thought you were, Iris. I'm glad that after all these years, I can reconcile you with the... person... I saw on the witness stand."
He couldn't even say her name. Already, he couldn't even say Dahlia's name.

"Feenie…? Is something wrong?"

"Iris… I wasn't looking at you because…" He put his hand against the glass screen between them, but his fingers curled, tightening. "I think Pearl saw that I was really staring at you because I still can't believe how much you and Dahlia look exactly the same."

"We're twins, Feenie. Of course we do."
"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I thought I could put it past me. Pearl must have seen that I can't." He drew his hand back, then tugged at his attorney's badge ever so slightly.

"Does this mean... you won't be coming back?" Her eyes were beginning to burn, and she quickly turned her head away. She didn't know why. It wasn't as if she'd never cried in front of Phoenix before.

"Yeah. For now, anyway."

"Okay." It came out softly. She wasn't even sure he heard.
"Take care, Iris."
"You too, Phoenix."

The next day, she asked to see her mother.

They were held in the same penitentiary, and Dahlia said she'd been able to do it, so Iris figured maybe she'd have the same luck.

Morgan Fey actually agreed to meet her, but only to spit in her face.

It would have been more effective if they weren't sitting across each other at a table, guards watching their every move, so that Morgan couldn't quite hawk the loogie far enough to actually reach her. But Iris got her point.

"Why did you even bother?" Morgan hissed. "You truly are useless. If only Dahlia hadn't asked your father to abandon you at the temple near Eagle River; both of you should've been tossed over Dusky Bridge into the current below. Dahlia was a psycho and you're just worthless. Both of you, useless! What's even the point of having twins if that's how they turn out?"

After a week, it really hit her, like a blow to her stomach. It was worse than when Dahlia called her a backstabber, or when she had to admit her crimes to a courtroom full of people she couldn't care less about… that just happened to have her Feenie in it as well.

She was in prison.

Phoenix wasn't coming. Dahlia and her mother hated her. Godot was in prison too because she'd done such a crappy job of a coverup.

And Misty Fey was dead.

"I deserve this," she whispered to herself. "Just like I deserved being left at the temple." She was even a lousy criminal; haphazardly assisting and then bailing out on Dahlia… no wonder no one wanted her around.

She survived by being as invisible as possible. It had worked when she lived with both parents, her non-presence alleviating her mother's disappointment that neither of her daughters had an ounce of spiritual power. It had worked when she lived with Father and Dahlia and Valerie, until Dahlia reminded him about her by suggesting she be left at the temple, barely seven years old. It had worked when she needed a moment of silence or solitude at Hazakura, for even in the remote mountains with just Sister Bikini around, it was hard to truly find.

Endurance was the Hawthorne way. Iris had perfected being invisible, silent, and cooperative, the way Dahlia had perfected a delicate presence, soft but carrying voice, and quiet manipulation. Every day alone was like pulling teeth; every day avoiding other prisoners was ripping out her innards.

Yet the days plodded on, and she bore it.

Two years and three days in, her father came to visit her.

"You'll be out soon, huh?" he said.

"They said I'd be out in about a week if my parole is accepted." She smiled, cocking her head to the side. "Isn't that nice? I haven't told Sister Bikini yet. I think I'll surprise her. I wonder how she'll react when I show up at the temple gates!"

"Iris…" He rubbed the stone on one of his rings with his thumb; it was a huge diamond, and even with her lack of knowledge about gems, Iris felt she could rightly guess it was very expensive. Her father always wore expensive jewelry, and today was no exception. Each finger was adorned with a ring of different size, stones of different cut. Sapphire-inset cufflinks and an oversized watch glinted in the light. "Are you really going back there?"

"Where else would I go?"

"You could come home."

Iris just stared at him. When she realized he was waiting for her to speak, she said, "Hazakura is my home."

"Of course you'd say that. But if you tire of it… if you ever have want for anything… come to me. I'll help you."

"Where is this coming from?" He'd never said anything like that to her before. She still remembered what he'd said when he left her at Hazakura all those years ago, after he'd finished explaining to Sister Bikini. She'd almost missed it, because she was so busy taking in the wood paneling and giant magatama and characters drawn on everything in sumí ink and sloped foundations and general oldness of the place with wide eyes.

You're going to stay here, sweetheart. Won't it be nice to be on your own?

What seven-year-old wanted to be on their own?

"It was wrong of me to leave you at the temple," Mr. Hawthorne said. "I want you home. Your stepmother wants you home."

"She… does?"

"My wife… she's difficult to live with, unless she has a… um…" His gaze drifted towards the ceiling as he searched for the word. "Unless she has a friend to distract her. A girl friend, you know, who can talk with her about shopping and make up and the like."

"Then… wouldn't a Shinto nun… be an awful person to ask to be that friend?" She didn't sound bitter, because she wasn't bitter. She didn't see this man as her father. He was simply someone who had given her life; he'd brought her into the world, and then when that world was too cruel for her, had taken her to another in the mountains. She expected no more from him.

"I should have left Dahlia there instead. It would have done her a lot of good. Or, at least, stopped her from doing her worst."

"...That's true." She nodded her head ever so slightly in agreement.

"You're all I have left, Iris. Valerie's dead. Dahlia's dead. Our house is too big for just the two of us."

"...It was too small twenty-one years ago."

He swallowed, and nodded. "So that's how it's going to be, isn't it?"

"I can't see it... being any other way."

"I can't say I'm proud of you, Iris. What you did was wrong. But I guess, what I mean to say, is that even if it wasn't exactly the right thing to do, you did your best. It could have been worse."

Upon release, they gave her a cheap pair of jeans and a white tee-shirt. She also received six hundred and ninety-six dollars—her wages for ironing clothes. Twenty-five cents per hour, six hours a day, for two years.

"What, um, happened to my uniform?" she asked, pocketing the cash.

"We don't keep your clothes," a guard scoffed. "Where would we put it?" He frowned. "You got someone picking you up?"

She looked down at her feet. They'd given her crocs. Even though it was November. "No."

He scowled. "There's a bus station in front. It'll take you to downtown."

"Okay."
"Don't let us see you again."

"Okay."

Her words were mindless, like the ambling motion to the station. She sat on the cold metal bench, waiting. The bus came what felt like an eternity later; she didn't actually know how much time because she didn't have a watch. It could have been five minutes. It could have been five years.

Only after she paid her fare and sat down did Iris realize she had no idea how to get to Hazakura Temple.

Iris watched the buildings blur and fade in the background, obscured by a thick evening fog, as the bus chugged past them. Some vague memory of the bus route from Hazakura to the base of the mountain surfaced, and hints of a connecting route to the edge of town… but she had no idea how to get there from here.

She stepped off in the middle of a downtown street. There was a mall on one side, and a bank opposite; both were sandwiched between strips of outlets. Neon lights winked their messages in gaudy colors. People milled about, weaving through each other like threads on a loom, all bundled against the beginning of the autumn chill.

Iris shivered.

"Ex-excuse me?" she called out.

No one stopped.

She tapped a young man carrying a bundle of newspapers on the shoulder. "Excuse me…?"

He turned. His eyes were kind and soft, but his mouth was pressed into the grim line of a man in a hurry. "Yes?"

"Cou-could you tell me how to get to… um… Eagle Mountain? There's a temple there I'm trying to reach."

"Take the 9-40," he said, and bustled away before she could ask for clarification.

Iris slipped off her shoes and stepped onto the floor of the Main Temple. Her toes curled instinctively against the cool hardwood, and she bent to retrieve a pair of slippers from the cabinet, only to find them gone.

"Sister Bikini must have been too lazy to wash each pair and just moved to the next," Iris muttered, a smile tugging at her lips. The idea that there would be enough visitors to use them all was ludicrous.

Iris ran a hand through her hair, tracing the lines of her braids, took a deep breath, and walked further in. Cold as the floor was, its familiar feel more than made up for it.

There were still several lamps lit, even though it was fifteen minutes past lights-out. If it weren't for the lanterns by the gates, or even the lamps lining the hallway, a visitor might miss the temple entirely, or jostle around like inside a pinball machine, but Iris knew the temple so well she could navigate it blindfolded.

The Main Hall's location, for example, could easily be found, even if she had forgotten, by following the sweet scent of incense.

Iris poked her head into the Main Hall. The sole lantern's light was a smoldering red at its base, but reflecting off the giant magatama in the center of the shrine cast a green, sickly pallor over the room. The wooden panels surrounding the shrine and the room, inscribed with a proliferation of kanji characters so obscure Iris was sure even Bikini couldn't read half of them, glowed as if made of emerald.

Sister Bikini was lying on her side, asleep at the foot of the incense altar, and the mystery of the lights was solved. Iris chuckled.

At the sound, ever so slight but in the silence like a crashing avalanche, Sister Bikini stirred. She opened one bleary eye, pushed herself up stiffly, moving her back as little as possible, and stared at her, wobbling back and forth as she stood on her feet. Then a sound like a steam whistle escaped, and she rushed forward, wrapping thick arms around Iris's waist. Sister Bikini was a short and stout woman—in court, she'd had to stand on a crate just so she could be seen over the witness stand—and yet she lifted Iris a full three inches into the air.

"Irrriiiissss!" she squealed. A moment later, she exclaimed, "Ah! Ouch!" and dropped her; Sister Bikini rubbed her back and winced. "It's not even winter yet. Stupid back."

Iris chuckled again. "I'll draw you a bath."

"No, no, no!" Sister Bikini grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, dragging her back down the hallway. "First we need to get you into proper clothing, not those leftover prison rags! We have a lot of extra hoods, and I'm sure I can find you proper temple robes around here somewhere…" Sister Bikini stopped abruptly and pressed her free hand to her forehead. "But of course! Your room!"

"My room?"
"Well, you have spares there, don't you?"
"But—"
"No buts," Sister Bikini said, resuming her walk. "And you must be starving, poor thing! What did they feed you? Bologna sandwiches?"

"Um, actually, it was a square meal sort of thing… meat and veggies…"

"Bah!" Sister Bikini stuck out her tongue, flipping on a light switch as they entered another hall. This one was more recently built, and thus outfitted with more modern amenities than other areas. This was the wing where Hazakura's only nuns, Bikini and herself, and all visitors lodged. It was also, Iris noted, considerably warmer. Ah, central heating.

Sister Bikini slid open the door to Iris's room, and Iris took a deep breath. It was exactly the same, save for a layer of dust covering most of everything. There was her futon upon the tatami, unrolled even though the sheets were drawn neatly over. A few books and a box of mementos in the corner were untouched. It even smelled like it used to, the air stale and yet laden with pressed and dried wildflowers that littered her shelf. It was as if Sister Bikini hadn't even opened the door once over the past two years and one week.

It wasn't just her room, she realized. The temple itself hadn't changed. It'd frozen in place, waiting for her, just like the rest of her life, as if it'd taken in a breath and needed her in order to exhale.

Her breath caught in her chest. Dahlia had said something about that, once.

You're exactly the same as when I last saw you. I guess you're so far up there that even change can't find its way up the mountains… It's kind of cute. On the other hand, do something about being such a crybaby. It's annoying.

"Are you okay?" Sister Bikini asked.

She nodded, wiping her eyes. "I'm fine," she said. If only Dahlia could see her now.

It was easy to slip back into Hazakura's rhythm: wake up at dawn; wash up, say the morning prayers, eat breakfast, clean the temple; have lunch; make a quick jaunt to the Inner Temple, make sure everything's in order, then head back; have dinner; say evening prayers, ring the lights-out bell; and go to sleep.

It was monotonous and unthinking, but it was also comforting, as was the feel of the uniform against her skin or the hood on her head. She didn't voice a word of complaint when she saw the state of the Inner Temple; she merely dashed back to the Main Hall, returned with a cloth and bucket ladden with soapy water, bent over, and began to scrub the floor.

"I'd have done it myself if that dratted back of mine would let me," Sister Bikini said, coming by several hours later to check on her. She'd barely made a dent in the dirt and grime covering the place.

"Don't worry about it." Iris smiled softly. "I like doing this. It's nice."

"I know. I'm just a little worried about you, that's all. I mean, you're right in front of the Sacred Cavern, and Heaven knows what you experienced locked up in there, poor thing!"
Iris pressed her lips together. When her twin sister Dahlia had attempted to kill Maya Fey, she'd locked herself in the Sacred Cavern to buy time. Then, she'd convinced Iris to switch places with her so she could derail the investigation—and take Iris's place in court. It was only because Phoenix proved the Iris on the stand wasn't really Iris that she didn't have perjury added to the list of charges against her.

She'd been so willing to help Dahlia, just as she'd been ecstatic to help Godot. She didn't even think when Dahlia had said, "I need you to switch with me," the same way she hadn't thought when Godot called her and said, "I need you to hide the body."

"Iris?" Sister Bikini broke into her thoughts.

The remaining Hawthorne twin shook her head. She'd only agreed to help both of them because of the thrill of being needed. She'd forgotten her place. Hazakura and its head nun needed her too. "I'm fine. I don't mind."

"I can stay at the door to the Cavern if you need to clean anything down there."

"You don't need to. I'll be fine."

"Iris…"

She cocked her head to the side, smiling. Dahlia wasn't the only one who could fake it. "I'll be fine."

Author's note: Ace Attorney takes place in what the Internet has dubbed 'Japanifornia,' an AU where California had considerable Japanese immigration-enough to have significant cultural changes and similarities. Since the U.S. and Japan have vastly differing legal systems, and different states within the U.S. can carry different penalties for the same crime, please forgive any problems with the length of sentences for crimes. I tried to base it on California's legal system, but discrepancies are bound to arise. Since California has a 'wobbler' for accessory for murder, I assumed the prosecution in Iris's case would go for a felony and gave her the minimum three-year sentence. Since I assumed Godot did not mean to kill Misty Fey until he saw Dahlia, the circumstances could be considered 'voluntary manslaughter,' so I did my best to find an appropriate sentence; it's not California's, however, since I had a hard time with that, but a federal ruling. [If anyone has a better suggestion for Godot's sentence, I'd be happy to retcon it and edit the chapter]

Similarly, I took some liberties with the prison uniform. Terry Fawles was wearing the familiar black-and-white striped ensemble, but everyone else in the detention center wore their regular clothes (probably because they haven't been admitted into a penitentiary yet and were in a temporary holding).

Also, I couldn't remember how old Iris actually was when she was left at the temple, so… seven-year-old Iris left at the doorstep is now my headcanon.

On a side note… No one has been executed in California since 2006. Trials and Tribulations came out in 2004. I wonder if Dahlia thinks she should've taken all her victims on a trip to Portland and killed them there.