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Maya’s very favorite part of the day has always been bedtime. Some other kids hate going to bed, she knows, because she hears the other girls in the village complain about it sometimes when Aunt Morgan allows her to play (or train, it’s usually train) with them.
The reason she loves bedtime so much is because it's the only time of day when she gets her big sister Mia’s undivided attention. Usually, Mia is busy running meditation sessions for all the youngest trainees in the village, doing chores around the manor, or filling out those big packets of homework she mails away to the education department in the city to prove she’s doing enough to earn a high school diploma. But when it’s bedtime, Maya gets Mia all to herself for twenty-five whole minutes, or however long she can manage to stretch it out.
They pretend to spend a lot of time picking out which pajamas Maya will wear, even though she only has the two sets, the purple one and the pink one. They ask each other about their days, which usually means that Maya complains about training and Mia explains what she’s learned that day, even if it flies totally over Maya’s head. Sometimes Mia will pull an old, beat-up picture book off the shelf and read her a story someone else has written, but Maya much prefers it when Mia makes up the stories herself. Her favorites are the stories about soulmarks, which they’re careful only to tell when Aunt Morgan has already gone to sleep. Aunt Morgan doesn’t like to be asked questions about soulmarks, and she doesn’t like it when the girls talk about it either. But Maya’s eight years old now, and Mia trusts her to keep secrets; happy secrets like the fact that despite Morgan’s warnings, Mia dreams about one day meeting someone with the match to her soulmark and sad secrets like the fact that Mia is leaving soon, to go to school in the big city. It’s secrets like that that make Maya value every second she gets to spend with her sister even higher than before, and why she pesters her night after night to stay for just one more story.
The best stories Mia tells are the ones about a little girl with long dark hair, a purple robe, and a soulmark shaped like a turquoise jewel on her upper right arm. Maya always likes to pretend that she doesn’t know who the stories are really about, even though she does.
One night, in the middle of one of these stories, a question occurs to Maya that she's never asked before. And that in and of itself is strange, because Maya is practically bursting at the seams with questions most of the time.
“And then one day,” Mia is saying, with her hands stretched out in front of her as though displaying a painting, “The girl met the soulmate she’d been waiting so long for; a handsome prince who-”
“Why does it always have to be a handsome prince? Why can’t I meet a beautiful princess instead?”
Mia stops talking, surprised, her arms lowering down to her sides almost subconsciously. She breaks eye contact with Maya, bites her lip, and glances around the bedroom as though she expects Aunt Morgan to come springing out of the wardrobe. Maya instantly regrets speaking, hanging her head low and pulling her knees up into her chest. She always hates when something she says causes Mia to make that worried face. She knows she’s just broken one of the rules she still isn’t old enough to understand, the kind Aunt Morgan refuses to explain but punishes them for breaking anyway. “Nevermind, a prince is fine,” she says quickly, trying to fix it and bring back Mia’s happy storytelling smile.
Mia leans over and pulls Maya against her chest in a half-hug. “It’s okay, you just surprised me. Do you…want to meet a beautiful princess?” She’s whispering, even lower than she normally does, so Maya figures that this rule, something to do with princes and princesses or maybe boys and girls, is one of the ones they can break as long as they do it very quietly when Morgan isn’t paying attention. So she nods, slowly, and Mia’s smile spreads back across her face. “Alright then. So then one day the girl met the soulmate she’d been waiting so long for; a beautiful princess. Not just beautiful either, but also smart, and strong, and very very brave.” Maya grins. The prince never gets to be anything but handsome and charming, as far as she can tell. “The princess had a soulmark that matched the girl’s, so they knew immediately that they were meant to be together. They worked together to defeat the evil witch with a combination of the girl’s magic and the princess’s sword, and they took back the kingdom for the forces of good. Whenever they held hands their soulmarks would glow, telling the whole world about their magic bond, and the two always felt comfortable and happy when the other was around. They had a big wedding with cake and dancing and all of their friends, and then they all lived happily ever after. The end.”
Maya grins even harder, feeling soft and warm and happy just like the girl in the story. She reaches over and runs her fingers along the mark on her arm, tracing the gold border of the gem and imagining how cool and smooth it would be in real life. “I can’t wait,” she whispers.
But as much as she loves dreaming about meeting her soulmate one day, her favorite part of having a mark is that it gives her something in common with Mia, something really important. It’s a reminder–a constant reminder–that Maya will never end up bitter and lonely like Aunt Morgan, no matter how hard the woman tries.
Franziska’s very least favorite part of the day has always been bathtime. She hates everything about it, including the fact that her nanny still calls it bathtime, despite the fact that Franziska takes showers, not baths, and has ever since she was four years old. Baths are for children, and Franziska is not a child. She is eight whole years old, is smarter than everyone she’s ever met (including her brother but not her father), and is already studying to become a prosecutor. She is far too mature for something as juvenile as ‘bathtime’, which conjures up mental images of bubbles and rubber ducks.
The reason she hates bathtime so much, which has only occurred to her briefly in the moments of weakness right before she falls asleep when she allows herself to examine her own feelings, is because she has to look at her soulmark while she showers. And she hates her soulmark more than anything else in the world. Soulmarks, and soulmates themselves, are for the weak and naive, her father always says. And her father is always right, so there must be something wrong with Franziska, something insidious and weak inside of her, because she was born with a soulmark. The rest of the time, she covers it with her sleeves, so that no one (including her) is allowed to see it, just like how Miles keeps a tight black ribbon wrapped around his wrist at all times.
She remembers seeing his mark, just once, when they were both younger, before Miles had really learned how to properly be a Von Karma. She thinks about it sometimes, that bright yellow sunflower shining on his skin, wondering who it means and what Miles will do when he meets them. Will he hold to the Von Karma creed, staying strong and unfettered, or will he collapse under societal pressure and fall prey to human sentimentality, the way cowards do?
He’s seen her mark too, and that thought chafes at Franziska like an irritating pebble in her shoe, the idea that she’d let someone else glimpse such a secret part of her. She wonders if he ever thinks about her mark and asks himself the same questions she asks about him, has the same worries, or if his mind is perfectly focused the way he always acts like it is, never thinking about foolish things like soulmarks.
While she showers she always stares pointedly in the other direction, trying to forget the mark is even on her skin. But in the back of her mind she still always knows that it’s there, mocking her with its very existence and with its strangely simple but unfamiliar shape, like a short stubby nine painted in glowing green on her left arm, that she can’t find a match for in any of the books in the library. Not that she’s ever looked, of course. That would be proving her father’s point; her soulmark makes her weak. It is not the kind of thing she should be spending time wondering about or researching. All it is is a reminder–a constant reminder–that Franziska will never be as perfect as her father, no matter how hard she tries.
Maya’s right arm aches, but she assumes that’s from where she hit the wall when the policeman shoved her back into the cell. Even the guard had winced at the sharp sound of her hair beads slamming against the cinder block, but Maya, trying her hardest to maintain her dignity, had only scowled at the policeman and dropped down into a cross-legged meditation pose on the floor, shutting her eyes and attempting to shut out the rest of the world. Unfortunately, she’s used to being in the detention center at this point, this being her second time on trial in less than a year.
She hopes that she looks peaceful and contemplative, sitting here on the cold floor, despite the fact that her internal monologue is anything but. Her thoughts appear spontaneously and racket around her cavernous mind, slamming into each other like bumper cars, each collision creating a dozen new thoughts. She pictures the sword that used to be painted down Mia’s back and wishes that Lana weren’t in jail, because maybe she could have come to prosecute this case and be nicer to Maya than this new prosecutor is being. She wishes she could talk to Nick more, wishes that none of this had happened and she’d just be able to ride the handlebars of his bike back to the agency and spend the evening watching TV and eating cheap takeout. She wishes that she could tell Pearly things are going to be okay, even if she doesn’t mean it. She wishes someone would tell her things are going to be okay, and actually mean it. She wishes that Mia weren’t dead, but she wishes that every day.
She wonders again where Edgeworth has gone, and why he’s left this new shiny prosecutor in his place, but knows she won’t be able to get any answers out of Nick. The shiny new prosecutor, specifically, is of interest to her. She has very little else to do in this cramped little cell, not even a harmonica to play or a ball to bounce against the wall like in the old movies, so she spends an awful lot of time considering Franziska Von Karma.
She’s met lots of lawyers before, but never one her age, which is why she supposes Franziska interests her so much. She didn’t even think it was possible to become one so early. The idea that Franziska’s been working in courtrooms since the age of 13, when Maya was still getting yelled at by Aunt Morgan for scuffing her robes while climbing trees and sneaking away from training to watch re-runs of old cartoons makes her feel frightfully behind in life.
There’s also the brooch. She’s not going to pretend she didn’t see Franziska’s brooch. How could she not, with it shining there, front and center under her chin? If she weren’t already so emotionally exhausted, she’d probably try to tell herself that it’s just a coincidence, that there are likely hundreds of brooches just like that in the world, and the fact that Franziska has one of them doesn’t mean anything. But Maya is too tired to lie to herself today.
Is this her beautiful princess? Trying to get her convicted of murder? she thinks. She wonders what Mia would say if she knew. If she would apologize for filling Maya’s head with silly stories and false hopes. Well, to be fair, Mia never said the beautiful princess would be kind, only smart and strong and brave. More likely, she thinks that rather than apologizing Mia would tell her to buck up and keep going, to look after Pearly and Nick, because the people you chose to keep in your life would always be more important than the ones fate tried to throw at you. Mia’s stories about soulmates had changed, considerably, after her own had broken her heart. Maya wonders if Mia would have ever been able to forgive Lana for that. She wonders if Mia would have told her to be forgiving of her soulmate’s mistakes too.
But Mia is dead, so Maya will never be able to ask what she thinks.
Franziska thinks she must have grazed herself with her whip at some point in court today, because on the taxi ride back from the courtroom she notices a deep-set aching sensation on her upper left arm, as though a bruise is developing. To think that she would be anything less than perfect in her aim is absurd, of course, but it makes much more sense than the only other possible explanation.
On the ride home, rather than going over her case notes and preparing her arguments for the next day, she stares out the window at the streets rushing by and considers Maya Fey. She’s had a few cases last more than a day before, but never one with a defendant her own age, which is why she supposes the Fey girl interests her so much. Maya Fey does not cry while she sits in the defendant's chair, does not grovel on the stand, pleading for mercy. She sits with a strangely detached air, letting the court proceedings move around her, as though she’s seeing the whole thing with some sort of third eye rather than really experiencing it. Foolish nonsense, of course. This whole spirit channeling concept is clearly a ruse, a scam for these mountain women to make money off the desperate grief of others, even if Franziska may have to pretend she believes otherwise to use her photo evidence at the trial. There should be nothing special about the Fey girl at all, and yet her presence intrigues Franziska in a strange, unexpected way.
There’s also the necklace. She’s not going to pretend she didn’t see the girl's necklace. How could she not, with how odd it was, how out of place in a refined location like a courtroom? But it hardly means anything. It’s a common enough symbol, at least in the circles Maya Fey must run in. Franziska, armed with her case files and research on Kurain, recognizes it now as a magatama, an archaic holdover from Kofun Period Japan, worn by all the women and girls in that foolish village. There is no reason that Maya Fey’s magatama in particular means anything special. She will think on it once, file it away into her properly organized mind, and move on.
But that plan doesn’t work quite as well as she wants it to, and Franziska lies awake that night, in the same childhood bed she always slept in when her Father brought her to America to visit, thinking. She tries to tell herself that the only reason she can’t fall asleep is that the bed is a bit too small, a bit too old and uncomfortable for her developed, modern tastes (She could move. There are several other beds in the house, all larger and plusher, but she would rather twist and turn all night long staring up at her horse paintings than try and sleep in her brother’s room, and she’d sooner die than ever enter her father’s.) But, frustratingly, her thoughts keep coming back to Maya Fey and her stupid, ancient necklace.
Is she sentencing her…ugh…soulmate to death? Practically pulling the trigger herself? she asks herself. She wonders what her father and brother would say if they knew. Her father would probably be proud of her, in his own strange way. He’d give her one of those rare smiles that never quite reached his eyes and tell her that this was good, that she was ensuring that nothing in the world could make her weak any longer. She’s less sure of what Miles would say, but knowing him, probably nothing. He’d just quirk his eyebrows infuriatingly at her in that way that meant ‘don’t ask my opinion, figure it out for yourself.’
But her father and brother are dead, so Franziska will never be able to ask what they think.
The first time that Maya finds herself at Franziska Von Karma’s door, wearing her best dress and holding a bouquet of flowers, she feels like an actress onstage, getting ready to portray an awkward yet charming first date. But a date is the last thing on anyone’s mind.
Maya is here, with carnations (Nick told her Franziska didn’t seem to like tulips), because a girl she barely knows, who was trying her hardest to get Maya found guilty of murder less than a year ago, ran all around town with a fresh bullet wound in her arm gathering up evidence to help save Maya’s life and convict the man who’d kidnapped her. If there was anything that could be said about Franziska Von Karma, it was that she never did anything by halves.
After psyching herself up for longer than she’d care to admit, Maya knocks. The pause is long enough that Maya considers giving up and just going home, but also knows doing that would mean disappointing herself, Nick, and Edgeworth (who’d sworn them both to secrecy about Franziska’s airport breakdown and lightly suggested that a visit would prove to her that she’d made the right choice by staying in America). Just as Maya’s turning around and stepping back, the door swings open, fast, as though someone had kicked it open from inside.
“Maya Fey,” Franziska mutters darkly, seemingly as a greeting.
“Hello!” Maya chirps, putting on her best and brightest voice, “I brought you flowers!”
“I can see that.” Franziska gazes suspiciously at the bouquet in Maya’s arms.
“This is generally the point at which you invite me in,” Maya points out, and Franziska rolls her eyes but steps aside and gestures for Maya to enter anyway.
Once inside, Franziska bustles off to find a vase to put the flowers in, and Maya gazes around, a little bit afraid to touch anything in what used to be Manfred Von Karma’s house. She’d managed to forget that point up until now.
The whole place is austere, almost intimidating to be inside, and not at all homey. It’s practically the farthest away you could get from Nick’s apartment, with the lack of creature comforts and anything distinguishing like pictures or tchotchkes. Though the aura the place admits reminds her a bit of Fey Manor, in the sense that it’s a place full of order and rules.
There’s a large empty space on the wall that’s a slightly different color than the paint behind it, where Maya assumes a portrait used to hang. The fact that Franziska’s taken it down gives Maya hope for how this will go.
Done looking around, Maya retreats to where she’s comfortable; the living room couch, and picks up the TV remote and begins flipping through channels. “Wow, you’ve got fancy level cable! Is that Disney XD?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t watch television,” says Franziska, suddenly appearing from the kitchen with a vase in her hands.
“Of course you don’t.” Maya says, flipping back to the streaming service menu, “You just pay hundreds of dollars for cable every month because-”
“Because my father liked to watch C-SPAN in the evenings, and I haven't had the chance to call the cable company and cancel.”
Maya snaps her mouth shut. The Netflix opening screen plays to a silent, awkward living room.
“Are you going to try and make me watch The Steel Samurai?” Franziska snips, and Maya hopes this is evidence both of them developing a rapport, and of Franziska not holding her stupid comment bringing up Manfred Von Karma against her.
“Nah. Steel Samurai is, like, friendship second base. And I don’t know if we’ve even left home plate yet.”
Franziska doesn’t comment on their base level, but she does sit down on the other side of the couch to help Maya pick which cooking competition show to watch.
“Why are you doing this?” Franziska asks quietly during a commercial break. “Did my little brother put you up to it? Or is it some sort of elaborate joke? Are you getting intel on me to bring back to laugh about with Phoenix Wright?”
“Of course it’s not a joke!” Maya protests, ignoring the accusation of Edgeworth’s involvement.
“Why then? I can’t think of any other reason that makes sense.”
“Well, for one thing, you saved my life, so jot that down.”
“Phoenix Wright saved your life. I was just…marginally involved.”
“Since when are you humble about stuff like that?” Maya jokes. Franziska doesn’t laugh, but Maya wasn’t really expecting her to. “Also, I mean, you’re new in town. New in the country, in fact. And it doesn’t seem like you know anyone besides your brother and Detective Gumshoe. You could use a friend.”
“I need nothing of the sort,” Franziska snaps. “I only need-”
“If you’re about to say ‘to be left alone’, just know that you’ll sound exactly like Edgeworth.”
Franziska closes her mouth. In the background, the cooking show comes back on. They sit in silence for a moment, watching the contestants struggle to finish their dishes as the clock winds down.
“Everyone needs friends,” Maya says, “Even if it’s just one. Nick’s been basically my only friend for almost a year, and before that, it was my big sister Mia for my whole life. So maybe this will be good for both of us.”
There’s another pause, and then Franziska speaks. “This is ludacris,” she mutters, and Maya is briefly worried that she’s said something else wrong, “I cannot believe someone would be so foolish as to attempt to use the ice cream machine during the last five minutes of the round. I could do this far better.”
Maya laughs, joyfully surprised, and if she’s not mistaken, a small smile creeps its way across Franziska’s face. Maya feels her cheeks heat up, and stubbornly ignores the heat spreading across her whole body, both from her face and from her upper arm.
This becomes the first of many strangely happy days that she spends with Franziska Von Karma.
Maya becomes very good at her stubbornly ignoring strategy, and it seems to her that either Franziska is either impressively clueless about this one specific thing in life or she’s equally good at feigning ignorance.
If Nick is suspicious of how much time Maya and Franziska begin spending together after the Engarde case, he only mentions it one time, and when Maya makes a pointed comment about Edgeworth in return, he shuts his mouth and moves on.
He’s also kind enough never to mention her mark, though she’s sure his sharp eyes made the connection immediately. In return, she puts his own soulmark on the very short list of topics she’s not allowed to tease him about, even after he finally comes to the belated realization of the career his white chrysanthemum represents. In her more jealous moments, Maya wishes that her own mark left so much room for interpretation (or delusion, as far as Nick’s concerned). It would at least make the constant dull pain emanating from her right side when she’s with Franziska easier to deal with if she could pretend she’s just got a stubborn bruise rather than an unattainable soulmate.
‘It’s not about soulmates’ becomes a mantra that Franziska repeats to herself over and over again.
It’s not about soulmates when she and Maya start having weekly dinners, Maya taking the train down to the city and Franziska taking it up to Kurain village, to eat together and talk about everything from the judge’s asinine comments during Franziska’s latest case to Maya recounting her training sessions with the younger mediums to just generally making fun of their older brothers.
It’s not about soulmates when she blushes scarlet the first time Maya calls her Fran, rather than whipping her for overstepping.
It’s not about soulmates when Franziska starts calling Maya to check in when she’s abroad, simply because she misses her voice and her jokes.
It’s not about soulmates when Maya writes ‘wish you were here!’ at the bottom of a postcard from the Treasures of Kurain exhibit at Lordly Tailor, and Franziska doesn’t even have to question that she really truly means it.
It’s not about soulmates when Franziska spends her entire sleepless night at Hazakura Temple breaking open trick locks to save Maya from the secret cavern, and collapses into her arms, nearly sobbing, when the case is over and they’re both safe.
It’s not about soulmates when Maya leans her over the sink and slowly and delicately applies the silvery blue dye to her hair, taking more care than even the most trained of stylists.
It's not about soulmates when Franziska's the first person who Maya calls crying after Phoenix's disbarment and is always her first option to help babysit Trucy when the need arises.
It’s not about soulmates when they hold hands so that they don’t get separated on the crowded train, but seem to forget to let go afterward, leaving them strolling through the city hand-in-hand until they awkwardly part at their final destination, neither of them saying a thing about it.
It’s not about soulmates when, two glasses of wine in on Maya’s bed in Fey Manor, Franziska leans closer and closer until she grabs Maya’s face in her hands and kisses her as passionately as she argues any point in court.
It’s also not about soulmates when Maya kisses her back.
But when Maya pulls back, the look in her eyes so apologetic that it breaks Franziska’s heart prematurely; that is entirely about soulmates.
“I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not right now,” Maya whispers, taking her hands off Franziska’s face so slowly that it seems like every inch is in an internal battle.
Franziska blinks, confused and not unwilling to show it, for what may be the first time in her life. This is not how this is supposed to go. This is not how soulmates are supposed to work.
“It’s not your fault, it’s really not,” Maya continues, “It’s me, I’m the problem.”
“I think we’re both too good for overused cliches like that,” Franziska breathes.
Usually, Maya would laugh at that. Usually, her eyes would crinkle and her face would light up with surprised joy upon finding that Franziska could reference pop culture in such a way. But nothing is usual about this moment, and so Maya very pointedly does not laugh. And Franziska does not speak. She does not say anything about how long it has taken both of them to get to this moment. She does not point out how much strength it takes for her just to be here, to break every rule her father drilled into her for the seventeen years he was alive. She does not tell Maya she loves her, because Maya already knows, and Franziska can not think of anything worse to remind Maya about at this particular moment. So she just sits, in silence, staring at the floor and waiting for some sort of explanation.
“You’re not the only one with a difficult legacy, okay?” Maya whispers eventually. With that, she grabs Franziska’s hand and pulls her outside to look at the art-covered wall of the training hall.
Together, they gaze up at the wall of Feys; the juxtaposition of dozens of traditional masters scrolls, all featuring stern and regal-looking women, and framed pictures of the three youngest Feys, smiling and throwing their arms around each other. In most of the photos of Mia, Pearl is only a baby, and for some reason, this sticks out as particularly tragic to Franziska. Maybe she’s reminded of how infrequently she sees her own older sister, who was already an adult and halfway out of the house when she was born.
Maya stares in particular at a picture of Mia in a graduation cap and gown. She frowns, as though she wishes the portrait would come alive and tell her what to do. “It’s just so hard to reconcile, you know?” she says, turning to address Franziska, “Like, the way Nick tells it, Mia was this champion of justice who’d stop at nothing to save innocent people. To save the lives of strangers she didn’t even know. But, the way I experienced it…she left,” Maya lets out a big shaky breath before continuing, “She left me, her little sister, in what she knew was a toxic, abusive environment.” Franziska does not question the rapid change in topic. She can tell that this is something Maya needs to say, something that she has been sitting on for a very long time, perhaps years. “They said part of the reason she left was because she didn’t want to fight with me over leadership of the village, but I think, well, I think that’s bullshit. I think she saw a chance to get out and took it, and knew that since I was there she didn’t have to feel bad about leaving the village without a master. And, like, I don’t even know if I can blame her for that because I might have done the same thing if I was in her shoes.” Maya reaches up to run a finger over the glass, seeming to weigh her next words, “But still, it’s hard when everyone else seems to think of her as this heroic lawyer goddess, when the whole time she was alive, to me she was just a mildly absent older sister. Not the best, but not the worst either. I loved her, of course I did. And I still do. But every year I get older and I feel more and more removed from her, the harder it is to understand some of the things she did.” Maya’s eyes skim over the rest of the pictures on the wall, dropping from one of her and Maya outside of the Fey and Co. Offices down to one of her and Pearl in a similar pose outside of the newly renamed Wright and Co. “Sometimes I feel like I didn’t even know her at all,” she admits.
Franziska, unsure of what to say, just nods. This quiet listening seems to be exactly what Maya wants from her, because she keeps talking; “And Mia’s soulmate…Lana? She was great, I loved her. I cried for days after they broke up. But it still sometimes felt like Maya spent more time with Lana than she did with me, or, like, cared about her more. And I…I never want to do something like that to Pearly. She’s already had all the stuff with her dad leaving her and the whole…shitshow with her mom. I’m basically all the family she’s got left and I never want to make her feel like I’m going to leave too, you know? I never want her to doubt that she’s the most important person in my life.” She turns back to face Franziska, begging her with her eyes to understand what she means without having to hear the words spoken aloud.
“Nick and I…we’re all that Pearly has. And she needs us. Believes in us. Maybe not for the right reasons quite yet, but still. I need to be there for her. And that means…”
Franziska nods. “I understand. It’s alright,” she says, even though nothing has ever been less alright in her life. Her arm is burning, and it’s somehow more painful than the bullet wound she received a year ago on the opposite arm. Tears are gathering in the corners of her eyes but she refuses to cry in front of Maya. “I should go,” she says, dropping Maya’s hand and beginning to turn around.
“Fran, I’m sorry,” Maya whispers, “But please please don’t go away entirely. I know I can’t be everything you want me to be right now but…I still need you. You’re one of my best friends.”
Franziska knows, in that moment, staring down into those big brown eyes, that no matter how much she wants to turn tail and run, to follow the family tradition and abscond herself away in Europe, she will never be able to abandon Maya Fey.
So she nods, oh so slowly, and says; “I won’t go. I’ll see you for our usual dinner next Friday?” Maya’s face brightens, just a little, and for Franziska that makes it all worth it. “I’ll be fine by then,” Franziska promises, “And we don’t even have to talk about it.”
With that, she finally manages to turn about and walk herself out of Fey Manor, left arm crying out in pain, but still in no way comparable to the breaking in her heart.
Maya mopes around Fey Manor for a few days, postponing any and all meetings with the elders and only leaving her bed for meals and pre-booked channeling sessions. She doesn’t even tune in to the mid-season finale of Pink Princess, which means that she has to ignore all the messages she gets about it from Edgeworth, Cody, and Penny, cutting herself off from her friends even further. Her arm burns until the sensation becomes so familiar it fades into the background. She tries to put up a happy front, so as not to worry Pearl, but Maya’s clearly not as good of an actress as she thinks, because Pearl storms into her room at the end of the week, swelled up with childish indignation, and demands to know what’s wrong.
“Are you sad for the same reason that you and Ms Franziska haven’t been talking lately?” she asks, not beating around the bush whatsoever.
Maya nods, having no energy to spare being surprised by how observant Pearl has become recently. She’s probably been spending too much time with Nick. It occurs to Maya that one of the reasons Pearl has been spending so much time with Nick is that Maya has been so busy with Franziska, and this realization makes her feel like both an awful soulmate and an awful guardian all over again. “You miss her, don’t you?” Pearl continues, and Maya nods again. “She’s your…she is your special someone, isn’t she, Mystic Maya?”
Tears burst into Maya’s eyes with no warning and begin pouring down her cheeks. Pearl gasps and jumps up from her spot in the chair, climbing into the bed to press herself against Maya’s side and rub her shoulder comfortingly. “I really wish she was, Pearly,” Maya manages to gasp out, “But I think that I might have ruined any chance of that ever happening.”
Pearl frowns deeply, and her eyes well up with tears just like Maya’s. “Is it my fault?” she asks desperately, wringing her hands.
“No, oh no, Pearly, it’s not your fault at all!” Maya promises, giving up on stopping the flow of her own tears and using her hands to wipe Pearl’s away instead. “We’re just having some…little problems right now.”
“But she’s your soulmate! And you always promised me that soulmates were meant to be together,” Pearl sobs, nearly hyperventilating.
Maya blinks a few times. “You knew?” she asks, “You knew that she was my soulmate this whole time?”
Pearl nods, and then gives a long sniff, trying to stop crying. “Your marks match,” she says, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, which Maya supposes it sort-of is.
“And you’re not…mad?”
“Why would I be mad, Mystic Maya?”
“Because I’ve been spending so much time with my soulmate instead of you,” Maya says, feeling more foolish by the second, as it becomes clear that Pearl might be, somehow, more secure in her attachments than Maya was as a child.
Pearl's tears begin to slow as she thinks to herself. “You spend lots of time with me,” she argues, “We eat three meals together every day. We train together. You help me with my homework after dinner. Or, well, you do your best to help and then give up and ask Mr. Nick and Mr. Eh-ji-worth. You watch Kid’s Masterpiece Theatre with me and show me all of your weird cartoons too. You and Mr. Nick take me out for ice cream all the time. You…” Pearl bites her lip, evidently considering what she’s going to say next, “You spend a lot more time with me than my Mother ever did. And that’s why you’re my favorite person in the whole wide world.”
Maya lets out a pathetic sob and pulls Pearl into a tight hug. “You’re too good for me, Pearly,” she whimpers, and Pearl gives her a comforting pat on the back before pulling herself free so that she can breathe again.
“You’re my favorite person,” Pearl says again, “I love you. Mr. Nick says that you should always want your favorite people to be happy, and I think that Ms. Von Karma makes you happy.”
“When did Nick tell you that?”
“I asked him why he took Mr. Eh-ji-worth to see the new Steel Samurai movie when he doesn’t even like cartoons.”
Maya lets out a wet chuckle. “Do you think Franziska would take me to see the new Steel Samurai movie?” she asks.
Pearl thinks for a moment, and then nods. “Yes. As long as you start talking to her again.”
“Oh, it’ll be so awkward, Pearly! Are you sure I can’t just hide in my room for the rest of time?”
Pearl pouts and shakes her head firmly. “No hiding. You can talk to her after Trucy’s magic show tomorrow. I’m glamorous assistant-ing, so you have to come anyway.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Maya wipes the tears from her cheeks one final time, and takes a few deep breaths, feeling the pain in her upper arm start to subside. “I’ll talk to her. And just for the record, Pearly, you’re one of my favorite people in the whole wide world too.”
Franziska wouldn’t miss Trucy Wright’s weekly magic show for anything in the world, even though she’s slightly dreading the awkwardness of seeing Maya again for the first time since what she’s started thinking of as ‘the kissing incident’.
She shows up with both Miles Edgeworth and a large bouquet in tow. The show is just as impressive as always, equal parts humorous and frustrating when Franziska fails to figure out the secret behind any of Trucy’s tricks. Pearl Fey proves to be an excellent assistant, her shy, serious demeanor playing brilliantly off of Trucy’s bright, flamboyant energy.
Her final trick involves locking Pearl in a large box, covering the box with a sheet, and then pulling the sheet back and opening the box to find Pearl replaced by a dozen pure-white doves that fly out over the crowd in a burst of feathers. Pearl, luckily, reappears from backstage a few seconds later, looking very proud of herself.
“Thank you so much for coming, Ladies, Gentleman, and Uncle Larry!” Trucy announces. “We’ll be back next week, but until then, remember; nothing is stronger than the power of magic, and, of course, the power of love!” With that, Trucy disappears in a puff of smoke and heart-shaped confetti.
Everyone cheers, applauds, and begins to stand up and mill about the courtyard, though Phoenix Wright sputters in panic and begins muttering frantically about finding his daughter.
Maya Fey lets out an extremely distinctive laugh at Phoenix's panic, and Franziska, almost simply by instinct, looks up at her.
The two of them lock eyes across the courtyard.
Maya nods, slowly, and Franziska knows her so well that she can understand the meaning of the gesture immediately. She begins walking purposefully towards Maya, breaking into a run halfway through, not even worried about how foolish she must look. When she reaches Maya, who has bent over laughing, eyes crinkling in the corners, Franziska sweeps her up in her arms and spins her around in the air, just for the sheer joy of seeing her hair fly out and hearing her startled yet joyous shrieks.
“I’m sorry I've kept you waiting,” Maya says once Franziska’s set her back down and she’s caught her breath.
“There is nothing to apologize for.”
Maya ignores this, and continues to speak. “I think I was holding so hard onto the idea of what I wished Mia had done for me years ago, that I wasn’t thinking about what was actually best for Pearl right now. Or what was best for us.”
“And what is…best for us?” Franziska asks delicately.
“To start talking again, if you ask Pearl.”
“Well, I’ll have to thank her for her input. But seriously…”
Maya rolls her eyes briefly, leans over, and gives Franziska a lingering kiss on the cheek. They both flush pink, and Franziska feels a warm heat rush through her body, starting from her left arm. “I’d like us to…be together. If that’s what you want too.”
“Maya Fey, you beautiful fool. I have never wanted anything more.” She leans forward and returns Maya’s gesture, but this time entirely on the lips, not caring if anyone is watching. Her father would be absolutely furious, she thinks, and that makes her smile all the more into their next kiss.
They break apart after a few moments, common rules of etiquette reoccurring to both of them, and stand together at the edge of the courtyard, silently watching everyone else mingle.
“Look at her. She’s gonna be okay, isn’t she?” whispers Maya, watching Pearl get swallowed up by Trucy’s hat and cape as the two switch accessories.
“Yes. Not in the least because of your excellent guardianship.”
“Oh, shush,” Maya scolds, but she’s still smiling, “You know what they say; it takes a village. You should have heard her telling me about the love advice Nick gave her.”
Pearl Fey does indeed have an entire village to look after her, Franziska thinks, looking around at the crowd of people who are there to see her and little Trucy Wright perform magic; her brother and the foolish man who he lets hang off his arm, the scruffy detective, the teenage thief and forensic investigator who have made a huge ‘Go Trucy and Pearl!’ sign, that pathetic fake artist who Franziska’s been doing her best to avoid all night, and most important of all, herself and Maya Fey.
Franziska is briefly jealous of how supported those two little girls will grow up, and wishes that she and Maya might have been so lucky. But then Maya grabs her hand, squeezing it tight, as they watch Trucy trying to teach Pearl how to use Mr. Hat, and Franziska knows that although she wouldn’t wish her upbringing on anyone, if she had to do it all again in order to meet Maya Fey, she would.
One night, a few months later, in the bed she and Maya have just begun to share in the charming new house (purchased with the money from selling Manfred Von Karma’s mansion), Franziska interrupts a cuddling session with a question.
“Have you ever considered asking your sister about us? About me ? I know that Pearl has…you know, talked to her before-”
“Fran, are you actually admitting that you believe in spirit channeling?” Maya teases, shoving her shoulder against Franziska’s.
“I am admitting that very strange things seem to happen around you a lot, Maya Fey, and nothing further.”
Maya laughs, but then she grows serious again. “Have I considered it? Yes,” she admits, “Do I ever plan on going through with it? No.”
“Why not?” Franziska asks, genuinely curious.
“I already know everything I need to know about us. I know that Pearly and Nick are both glad that we’re together, and they’re my family. I know that your brother’s glad too. And most importantly, I know that I love you and that you love me.”
Franziska smiles. “You are an incurable sap.”
“I don’t hear you denying your love,” Maya teases.
“I would never dream of doing such a thing. You are the love of my life, Maya Fey.”
Maya blushes bright red and sputters. “You can’t just–you can’t just say things like that when I’m not ready!”
Franziska smiles wider, and reaches out to stroke Maya’s upper right arm. Slowly, she winds her finger around the border of the very same jewel she wears at her collar bone on a daily basis. “Do you not expect to be romantically wooed by your beautiful princess?”
Maya buries her head in her hands. “I deeply regret ever telling you that story.”
After a moment, Maya can’t pretend to be embarrassed much longer, and they both break down into giggles. Franziska finds it incredible how often she giggles now, despite the fact that she doesn’t think she ever did so for the first seventeen years of her life.
“You’re so much better than a beautiful princess,” Maya says, “You’re my beautiful prosecuting attorney.”
“Doesn’t really have the same ring to it, though, does it?”
Maya rolls her eyes and kisses her, soft and sweet and a little bit lazy. “How about soulmate, then? How does that sound?”
“That sounds just perfect.”