Chapter Text
Years after Edgeworth’s death, Phoenix stares out the window of the Prosecutor’s Department. A horrible grief having set into him, he chose to become just like how Edgeworth had once been, rude, abrasive, and horrible, not losing a single case and having a stone cold expression no matter what went on.
And tonight, the 5th memorial of the night Miles Egdeworth was executed, Phoenix sits and laments, writing in a thin notebook.
Every night after his death, I used to cry. Endless tears that never stopped until I lay on the floor gasping for air- and still then would I see his face outside my window, in the shadows, in the random patterns on the wood floor. But now, no matter how hard I try to, no matter how hard I remember, I can’t even get a single tear to come out, no matter how hard I fight to remember…
I’ve become what I swore to never become.
I’m just like him, aren’t I?
The sense of pen on paper soothed him, the soft scritching of the pen, and the shuffling of the paper underneath his hand all did wonders to distract him from the issue at hand. But he couldn’t ignore the thought forever.
He stands, wandering over to the window, and staring out at the rows upon rows of identical apartment buildings that littered the city, ugly, but oh-so-gorgeous under the night sky, when the moon was full and the stars blanketed the bluish-black sky.
He turns back and his gaze grazes against a massive pile of paperwork that laid on his windowsill, a stack of records for death penalties, all ones he’d signed off on.
His eyes flicker back up into the sky, looking for the brightest star. He watches every star flicker, covered by a cloud, except for his star. His star never flickered.
That’s how he knew. Edgeworth was perfection, even in death.
He chuckled at the thought, before murmuring under his breath one simple sentence, his tone empty, sad, and grief-flooded.
“I hope you never see what I’ve become. Good night, Miles.”