The day should have gone smoothly for Franziska von Karma.

After all, she did not have a new case assigned yet. She had simply walked into the courthouse's record department to review some of her old files. She had not planned on meeting her mother.

It was an odd thing. She had nodded along with and provided curt smiles to passersby in the hall. She had walked briskly to the door and gave it a push.

Her heart skipped a beat. Her mother was sitting at a table some fifteen feet away. There were shelves all around the sets of tables, but the older woman did not have a single piece of paper with her. She was simply looking down.

Franziska stood awkwardly for a moment, then tried to make a pivot on her left foot. With luck, she could swing behind one of the shelves. It seemed so childish, but she could at least grab something, anything to read and wait.

"Franziska."

But it was not to be.

Franziska swore under her breath and watched her mother rise up and push the seat behind her back in. She did not move, but merely nodded. Franziska, suddenly feeling a least ten years younger, felt her feet disobey her and bring her to the table.

She had a better look now.

Mrs. von Karma seemed much the same after all the years she had been separated from her daughter. She was still tall, her pose was perfect, her back straight, and her green shades were shining over her nose as always. But Franziska could pick up on the subtle cracks in the facade. Her mother's hands shook against her sides. Her face seemed leaner, with more lines in the forehead. There were streaks of gray in her black hair. She had put no effort into hiding them.

Mrs. von Karma readjusted her lenses and nodded once more. "Are you here for a case?"

Franziska shook her head. "No...just to...review cases."

"I thought I had told you the proper way to speak. Clearly, without a break."

Despite herself, Franziska flushed.

"I do not need your lessons. We have nothing to share with one another." Her voice was low, but more than clear.

Mrs. von Karma folded her arms. "Having the power to communicate is the first key to controlling one's life. That is how I have managed these years."

"Are you sure? Are you sure you are in control of your life?"

For the second time in under a minute, Franziska lost control. But that did not matter now. She stood her ground as she watched her mother's shoulders drop ever so slightly.

"Not quite as sure as I was years ago."

The woman watched her daughter blink, but recover.

"Do you know what happened a week ago?"

"...no?"

"Your father has passed."

"...You...don't say?"

"Heart attack."

Franziska shuffled her feet. She was speechless, her mind consumed by the tension and memories and horror the deceased man conjured.

"I should be surprised you were not keeping tabs, so to speak, but I am not."

Neither of them wanted to make the next move in their conversation. Finally, Mrs. von Karma gave in.

"I'm a good deceiver." She spoke softly. "I am a very good deciever. But Manfred...he was better. Two murders, one of which he kept secret for fifteen year straight...almost got his own protege convicted in his place..." Mrs. von Karma was trying her best, but it looked as though her face would buckle under the weight of the repressed emotion.

"And to think...there was a time I wanted you to be exactly like him."

Franziska stood where she was, stunned. Then she forced herself back into stoicism as she heard her mother clear her throat.

"How have you been doing?"

Franziska wanted to think of a cutting remark, or a witty retort. All she could do was speak the facts, and state them plainly.

"I am still a prosecutor. I have a husband, and three children...two of my own, and one adopted. I am happy."

Her mother hesitated, then pushed up her lenses again.

"That...is good to hear."


Phoenix found himself pacing up and down the foyer. He felt embarrassed that he was acting like he was still a college student, but he could not help it. The mail carrier always came to the house at 4 p.m. on the dot.

He had spent the past month reading the old books, studying, watching clips of trials, anything to give him an edge in the bar exam. And every second he did, he had to push down the nagging thought that maybe he was not good enough, that maybe he was too old, that maybe he should just shove aside the dream he had held since he was a child...

Presently, an envelope was pushed through the door slot. He picked it up, opened it, and plucked out the notice. He skipped the text and went straight to the bottom.

He had been accepted.

He went back to the envelope. The little gold badge was inside, the same perfect flower he had been presented all those years ago.

He began to cry.

-A multi-chapter story; Chapter 25; story idea by CRed1988 and writing by Jerviss.