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The Von Karma household felt like anything but to the young Miles Edgeworth. The outside of the home looked like the castles he’d seen on television and in books. The inside, even more so. The walls felt larger than life as they towered over his small form. Everything was so ornate and extravagant. He walked his first steps in behind Manfred and Franziska, only to pause and take it all in.
He looked down at the younger girl, how she practically skipped into the house with a purpose. He wondered how she felt so calm in such a home. How, with how little she was, she didn’t feel like the mansion was swallowing her whole.
Miles felt small. He felt smaller than he’d ever felt his whole life and he’d hardly even stepped through the doorway. The chill of the winter air outside stuck to his skin and clawed at him under the fabric of his jacket.
“Miles,” called Manfred. The booming voice shocked Miles out of his thoughts. The sharp lines of the older man’s face held an almost soft understanding. “I will have a maid take your things up to your room,” he explained. “For now I will show it to you myself. Come,” he said as he made a motion with his hand for Miles to follow him.
Miles watched Manfred walk towards the stairs before he really moved himself. His feet felt like lead. As if weights had been tied to his laces. He didn’t want to seem rude, however, so he quickly made way to follow after the older man.
As they walked down the hall, Miles let the sound of Manfred’s cane numb his frayed mind. It almost became comforting after a while. It was familiar. Miles had not met the older prosecutor that often, however, there were a few times where he had seen him in the offices and, of course, in the courtrooms.
His father used to enjoy sitting in on a trial once in a while. And Miles had always followed him around like a duckling, attached to his ankles.
Now he had no one to follow. Now he felt lost in a pond, too wide for him to swim alone. His fists clenched at his side, begging to have the familiar feeling of his father’s coat beneath his fingers. He smashed his eyes closed, praying that if he were to open them he’d wake up from whatever nightmare had overtaken him as he slept on his father’s lap. He stopped walking, wishing that the hot liquid he felt falling down his cheeks was anything but tears.
The crushing weight of what was happening had finally fully fallen on his small shoulders. His father was gone. He would never be able to return home. His life would never be the same. And, for the moment, he felt as though he had lost everything.
He had hardly noticed the pause in the clacking of the cane before he felt a pair of arms wrapping around him and lifting him up, maneuvering him so that he rested on Manfred’s hip and snugly in one arm. Once Manfred was sure he wasn’t risking dropping the boy while still able to walk with his cane, he started again down the hall; slower now.
Miles wanted to protest. He wanted to apologize for making such a scene and for causing Mr. Von Karma such trouble. But all he could do was cry. He curled his hands against his own chest and pressed his face into Manfred’s shoulder.
He then was gently placed on a bed, a blanket pulled over his small form.
When he heard the sound of the cane start to leave, he wanted to reach out. He wanted to beg the man to come back. To not leave him alone like his own father had been taken from him.
He then heard Manfred’s voice whisper but could not understand the foreign words. Manfred had said, “Be gentle with him Franziska. Let him grieve.”
“Yes papa,” came the reply that Miles also could not make out.
When the sounds of the cane became too far away to hear, Miles felt a dip on the bed. The dip crawled over to him before curling up against him to face him.
Franziska’s little face looked at him quizzically. “Papa said you are grieving. Why are you so sad? Smile. You are here now.”
Miles only shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled out.
Either Franziska knew what he’d meant or gathered it through context clues, as she only frowned and pushed her tiny hands against his face.
It took Miles a moment to realize what she was doing. She was trying to wipe away his tears, her young hands still trying to understand how to control force behind movement. Her rough movements didn’t hurt though, not really. Miles, actually, found it almost grounding.
He let the exhaustion of the trip and everything else finally take him, as the motion of Franziska’s hands on his face lulled him to sleep.