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Perfection: the very basis of Franziska von Karma's being. What was the point of living if you didn't go about each day striving to be absolutely flawless ?
Perfection and the von Karma name were synonymous, and if Miles Edgeworth were to dare sully their reputation with a man after Lana Skye was placed at his feet, then Franziska would have to fix it. She would have to smooth over his imperfections, leave him to his own devices.
What he was doing no longer concerned her. She was the pinnacle of perfection. She got perfect grades, went to the perfect school, played the perfect notes, wore the perfect dresses, said the perfect things, she weighed the perfect amount, and she went to church every Sunday with her papa.
When it was her time to come out, she would do it right, the proper way. A beautiful coming-out party in blinding shades of white. To be presented to a group of promising young men was the dream of every girl!
It's what made them perfect.
Miles Edgeworth had another thing coming when she next saw him! He had gone out of his way to have an entirely different kind of coming-out party.
…Although she could say his fruitless endeavor at a relationship with a Skye sister wasn't entirely unwanted. It meant she was given something every perfect person needed: a significantly less perfect counterpart. Who? None other than Ema Skye.
Ema made Franziska's perfection much clearer than it already was. Her long, silky, greasy hair. Her pudginess, her altogether complete lack of knowledge and understanding when it came to anything outside of STEM… She made Franziska absolutely flawless . So it was no surprise when Franziska hung around her at school and at home; it didn't mean anything, it just made Franziska even more worthy of the von Karma name through the lens of outside viewers.
…And maybe Franziska disagreed with some of the outrageous claims students and teachers alike made about Ema Skye, because in reality she knew what Ema was truly capable of— had seen it with her own two eyes— and she knew if Ema really tried that she could be absolutely stunning, that her lips could look impossibly soft if she didn't always forget to apply chapstick…
These thoughts rise and stick to Franziska's frontal lobe as she lies in bed next to Ema.
These were the moments that stripped Franziska bare. Wasn't it scandalous for the two to see each other in nothing more than lacy tank tops and shorts? How dare God test her with such lustful thoughts!
The warmth of a body next to hers, long hair spreading out before them… It was nothing more than a test put there by the always watching God the Germans had taught her to trust and believe in.
Deep down, some part of her wondered if He really was watching. Who was He to tell her she belonged in hell for the simple act of longing? It's not like she was ever going to go through with it! Love was for fools. Miles Edgeworth has made that much abundantly clear!
Not to mention what happened to Lana Skye… was it truly so frowned upon to love women in this world?
(God, why have you burdened me with these feelings?)
Still, she could not prevent herself from wishing to reach and touch the girl before her. She wanted to feel her warm skin, run her fingers through silky hair, maybe even wash it if it got to be too difficult a task for her. For then, she would get to see another female body bare, and see the extent of the scars that lined Ema's body—the scars that Franziska had herself—and perhaps finally be seen in a way her God has told her she should not.
But not kiss. No, that was the one thing she could never allow herself to fantasize about. The one thing she knew would land her a spot in hell, for that went far beyond the confines of femininity and friendship.
Still, when Ema turns around to meet Franziska's gaze, her eyes immediately fall to her lips.
“We should watch a movie,” Ema says, sitting up. Her hair falls over her shoulders, wrapping around her breasts, much like her sister's hair.
“It's too late. Papa will hear the TV.” Franziska says, mirroring Ema's position.
(What was it they say about matching the mannerisms of somebody you're close with?)
“Well, neither of us are sleeping.” She says again. “It's too hot in here. Can't you afford better air conditioning?”
“Papa likes to keep it warm upstairs.”
Ema sighs. “Did you read the Animal Farm chapters we were supposed to read for homework?”
“Of course. Am I to assume you didn't?”
“I just don't care about talking animals,” Ema replies. It was just like her to completely misinterpret such profound literature. “Explain it to me, then. We have a test tomorrow.”
“Fine,” Franziska says. She can see the sweat glistening on Ema's body, her hair sticking to her forehead and chest, and although she's certain she should find it utterly disgusting… She doesn't. Instead, she wants to feel Ema's skin, reach out and hold her hand…
It's late at night. If she were to go through with such an action, would it matter in the morning? Could God see her, even now, when there was nothing but curtain-filtered moonlight to illuminate her room?
She places her hand near Ema's, her fingers teasing the molecules that make up Ema's, and soon their fingers are intertwined.
“Did you know that your large intestine is nearly six feet long?” Ema stutters out, trying to break the silence that had begun to swallow the room.
“...No?” Franziska asks. She didn't care much about science. Although she did well enough in the class to maintain her A Honor roll, she had no use for it in the real world.
“Did you know the hormone responsible for love and attraction is called oxytocin?” Ema asks, and suddenly she's leaning in, and Franziska is seeing more of her than ever before. It wasn't until now that she noticed Ema had freckles, or that her top lip actually created more of a heart shape than a line, or that her eyes were so unlike Franziska's pale blue eyes, and instead a deep, almost indigo blue that she could get lost in.
She wanted to study more of these rare features— get to see Ema in a way nobody else had ever seen— but she was cut short by pressure against her lips, and soon the taste of strawberries and the scent of coconuts were flooding her senses.
Ema was Franziska's opposite. She believed from the bottom of her heart what they told her in church every Sunday; she truly believed she would be going to hell for this. How could Ema think any differently? How could she, with all her mental prowess, believe in some illusion of evolution instead of the holy book?
Franziska drops Ema's hand as if she has been burned and pulls away.
“I just realized I forgot to shower.” She blurts out, standing up abruptly. She doesn't bother to rummage through drawers for a change of clothes; she can't stand this scrutinizing stare any longer. She disappears into the shower and turns the heat all the way up; she didn't care how hot she already was; she needed to burn for her sins. She promised herself she would never let her lust control her; she promised she would never let such trifling feelings lead her astray from God's teachings.
The illusion of perfection was shattered. This was her scarlet letter. From this day forward, everyone would be able to tell she had committed the ultimate sin.
How could she go on telling everybody she was perfect? No, how could she go on having these sleepovers with Ema after what happened here tonight?
How could she ever set foot in a church after tonight if, worst of all, she liked it?
She pulls her tank top and panties back over her wet body and steps out of the bathroom.
“...I won't tell if you won't.”