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Franziska woke up tired, sweating, and disheveled, laying on the couch of her hotel room. Her hair was a mess, though it did not really matter; she had already lost all of her dignity. She might as well walk through the streets drunken and intoxicated, yelling at birds. She had not yet booked a plane ticket back to Europe, all due to one reason. Before she does anything, needs to answer one question: What now? What happens now that she is a disgrace? Is it all over now? She had lost to the novice, fresh out of law school Phoenix Wright. The great Franziska Von Karma, pride of the Von Karma family, could not beat that defense rookie attorney. She has been prosecuting since she was 13, so how did he beat her? Father never accepted her, so how could she face him now? She was taught to have pride in being a Von Karma, but how could she possibly call herself one now? She had been stripped of her perfect record. All of her accomplishments have been shattered, the fiber of her being shredded by that idiotic lawyer. Franziska reached over to the table next to the coach, grabbed a bottle of water, and opened it. She never drank the water bottles at the hotel, as they were always too expensive. However, as a world-renowned master prosecutor, she could afford such things. Ex-master prosecutor, she corrected herself. She placed the bottle to her lips and started to slowly drink the water. The water poured down her throat at a slow, greuling pace as she tried to enjoy the refreshing water. However, all that it refreshed was her memories of crying last night. As she drank, laying down on the hotel couch in an old tank top, she realized that she had never felt like such a failure. The area of her face under her eyes was red and sore from the constant stream of tears that she produced last night, yet she feared that she would further burn her face with another session of crying if she continued to sit in such a sorry state.
Franziska stood up and walked over to the bathroom, still dizzy, with her legs wobbling like the entire world was shaking in some sort of cruel joke played by the heavens. She leaned on the counter where the sink was located and turned on the cold water. She splashed some water on her face before going and washing her hands. Then, she walked back out of the bathroom, but stumbled over to the king-sized bed instead of the couch. The bed was soft and pillowy, unlike the rough, abrasive material of the couch. If she did not instantly collapse on the couch and start weeping when she entered her room, she probably should have slept on the bed instead of the couch last night. It was all white, with enough space for another person. Sadly, she had no one to lay in the bed with her to comfort her. Such things were reserved for those who were not master prosecuters. Ex-master prosecuter, she had to remind herself for the second time. Perhaps now that she is no longer a master prosecutor, she could pursue such matters…she banished the thought. This was, no doubt, the worst event of her entire life. There can be nothing good that can come of this. Being a lawyer was her life. Being a lawyer was not just her livelihood, it was her life, everything. She was raised to be a lawyer, and she should die a lawyer, without a single loss from start to end. When she was a child, she was taught about law from her father, and told stories of his great wins. She never felt happier than the day she arrived in Germany to attend her first law class. She wishes that she could feel such a feeling again. The only time she feels sparks of joy anymore is when she wins a case, and even that is fading. She expects to win; winning is the only thing that she can do, anything else is utter failure. With each case won, she starts to feel less and less happy, and now she feels barely more than indifference. With this one case loss, she feels only agonizing mental anguish.
Franziska sat up. If she was going to feel better about herself at all, she would need to get dressed. She walked over to her old brown suitcase, with the leather covering it extensibly cracked, and poured over its contents. She has a couple sets more of her clothes that she wears in court, and only one other set of clothes: a light blue t-shirt and skinny jeans. She sighed, and picked up the clothes, and started to put them on. She rarely ever dresses like this, as her father always instilled the importance of fine dressing into her from a young age (even though his taste was arguably too archaic). However, she could not help but remember that her father, at the first time seeing Franziska in feminine clothes, amended his teachings to wearing the “right” fine clothing. She chuckled at the absurdity of it, but then she was reminded of the terrible events that occurred when she relayed her personal revelations to her father, and a frown sprawled across her face. After she told Father that she wanted to be a girl, he told her that she could no longer call herself his child. This infuriated her. She was such a great prosecutor, so why did he resent her so much? She always wanted to be a girl. She liked being in a dress, and growing out her hair, but that didn’t affect the fact that she was a great prosecutor. Why didn’t that matter anymore? Yet now she can’t even call herself a great prosecutor anymore, so what does she have left? She was always jealous of her brother. He got the special treatment. He wasn’t even a Von Karma. He never questioned his gender, or ever did anything “rebellious”. Whenever she saw him, it always brought back the memories. The memories of her forgotten boyhood, the way that her father insulted her, the things her father did to try and “make her a man”, and the days she spent, looking at the pompous face of her brother. He never complained or cared much about her switching her name or pronouns, but the look on his face never went away. The way he disregarded her, as though it was never a competition. It was always a competition, that’s what she thought at least. Miles always won, too. He won fair and square. He didn’t break the rules, but she wanted him too. She really wanted to catch him breaking the rules. It was probably her prosecutors instinct. When people win so often, the usually broke the rules. People always have motive for crime. That’s what law is. The law is the rules. She was always learning the law. It confused her so much when her father told her that she couldn’t be a girl. He never told her that rule before. Since when was it a rule. Who was she hurting? Crimes always take. What was it that she was taking? Father said it was “unnatural”. It confused her. Von Karmas were all always extraordinary. She was a great prosecutor. The way she defeated attorneys left and right was unnatural. No one could match her. Well…not anymore. She was no longer a master prosecutor. She lost. She was a failure. “Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney!”, that was the title of a local news article on him. Franziska could not figure out what she hated more: the fact that he was a novice who did not deserve such a title, or the fact that it might perhaps be true.
Franziska suddenly realized that she was staring into space again, and she had only gotten her pants on. She hurriedly put on her shirt and shoes before walking out the door of the hotel room, hoping that her thoughts would not start occupying her mind again. She walked down the hall to an elevator, and pressed the button to go down before the doors opened. She took the elevator down to the lobby where she promptly walked ot of the building and onto the sidewalk. Then, she started walking. She just started walking, without any direction or destination. For the first time she could ever remember, she just started to walk, slowly and passively, without worrying about what she needed to do at whatever destination she was going to. She stared up at the blue sky, clear spare for a few fluffy puffs of white cloud in the sky. The atmosphere was the most beautiful of cerulean blues, which was lit up by the morning sun. The trees were swaying gently in the soft breeze, the leaves creating a subtle rustle as they rubbed against each other, blending together with the morning melodies of the birds into a soothing song. Franziska felt a calm that she had not felt in a long time. She sat down on a bench that she came across and stared up at the sky. She wondered if her father had ever sat down on a bench and looked up at the clear blue sky. What about her brother? What about Phoenix Wright? What about his assistant, Maya Fey? That girl in the purple robes, the one who could talk to ghosts or something. She always saw her with Phoenix Wright, never leaving his side. She always seemed happy to help. She wished she could be like her. She was so feminine and nice. She gets compliments from men. Franziska didn’t care much for gender, but she wish she got the compliments from men. She prides herself on her abilities, but she doesn’t want to feel like she is living a lie. Franziska thought back to before, in her hotel room bed, where she pondered the practicality of being in romantic relationships. She never understood people’s fixation on love, but when she thought about that girl in the purple robes, her mind started the change. What does it mean to be in love? Is it similar to envy? Perhaps she would never know. Franziska just wants to be a true woman. A woman like Maya. Maya was attractive, cute, and feminine. Franziska was a Von Karma before a woman, but the words of her Father still stuck with her. Her father cared that she was a woman. All she ever wanted was his approval. No matter how hard she worked, she couldn’t please him. She did all the things he wanted. She did everything that would “turn her into a boy again”. He cared so much about making her a boy. But before that, all he cared about was making her a prosecutor. She made him so proud before she came out. Franziska heard that Maya had an older sister. Her older sister was supposed to be the head of the family. I guess they both knew the jealousy of having an older sibling that got everything. However, when she looked into Maya’s eyes, she never saw contempt nor the burning desire to win. Franziska had the eyes of a Von Karma: cold, sharp, and determined. She did not see femininity, balance, nor peace in her eyes. She saw only desire, the same thing that ate her up from the inside and destroyed all of her joy. Franziska was a Von Karma before a woman. A Von Karma always. Maybe what her father said was right all along. She calmed down. What her Father said all those years ago still stuck with her, but father is in jail now. He broke the rules. He has no right to criticize her any more. He can’t say that she broke any rules, because for years, he has been breaking them.
Franziska broke her father’s ideas of perfection the day that she came out, so why did she continue to place such an emphasis on perfection? If her father’s ideas of perfection was flawed, then why would her’s not be? As she stood up, she continued to stare at the gorgeous blue sky, marveling at the movements of the clouds. She may not have all the answers to all of her questions, but she was starting to understand. Perhaps, in the end, the rules and perfection were not the only things that mattered.