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Miles Edgeworth was nine when he was adopted by the von Karmas. He met who was meant to be his adoptive mother a few times, but she left before he turned 10. Manfred was kind to him, treating him like one of his own. And of course there was Franziska, who treated him as lesser to her. He found it cute, this little girl acting like she’s all grown up compared to him. And yet, they stayed together. Miles embraced Franziska as his sister. As if she was always his sister.
Miles Edgeworth had a life before the von Karmas, but he often wished he hadn’t. He wished he was born as one of them, then he wouldn’t have had to go through so much. He wouldn’t have a dead father. He wouldn’t have to think about him every time he heard his own last name. He wouldn’t scream during earthquakes, he could ride the elevator, he wouldn’t have this sinking feeling in his chest everywhere he went.
He thought about a name change. Miles von Karma sounds nice, doesn’t it? He was the son of Manfred von Karma. The brother of Franziska von Karma. December 28th would just be another ordinary day to him, no more different than August 19th or March 2nd. Just a normal day.
But he thought about his father. What if he really did kill his own father? That thought always plagued his mind. The man who killed my father went free, but he was never on trial. He knew this for a fact. So what if there were no other possibilities? It was Yani Yogi or him. That was all. One gunshot. One bang when the gun was thrown. It was as clear as day to him as he got older. He had to live with that, to remind himself that this was all his fault. No matter if that gunshot killed his father, if he never threw that gun, his father would never have died.
As Miles became a teenager, he found a certain escape in a pocket knife Manfred gave him for his birthday. He drew lines in his skin, telling himself that this was just a fraction of how much his father bled because of him. He had plans. By the next December 28th, he would do it. He would find a gun and shoot himself in the heart. It’s only fair. His fathers life got cut short, his should get cut even shorter. At only 17, Miles Edgeworth would join his father.
It was only a month away. November, the last full month he’d live. He knew where Manfred kept his gun, he knew when he’d be away, he had his note written out. He left all of his belongings to Franziska. She was only 10. He felt bad for her, but she would get through it. She’s older than he was when his father died. She’s almost 11, the age he started to truly blame himself.
Miles Edgeworth sat in his room, doing his daily ritual of slicing his forearms. They were bloody, he was wincing, but he went through with it. Suddenly, his door was opened. It was the young Franziska von Karma, pointing her riding crop at her brother. “Fool! Dinner will get cold- Little brother, what is that on your arms?” Miles tried to hide them. But it was too late. He only had time to hide the knife. Franziska walked up to him, seeing the blood. “Ah, I’ve seen this! You have stripes, don’t you? You really should take better care of them, allow me to get a towel!”
Miles panicked. She didn’t understand what was happening. “... Stripes?” Franziska walked over to him sitting on the bed with a damp towel in her hand. “Yes, your stripes! My friend Lucy said that her mother has them, and they bleed when she doesn’t take care of them!” Miles winced as she cleaned his wounds. “Yes… I haven’t taken good care of my stripes lately. I… don’t like them.”
“Do you wish to be rid of them someday? Lucy said her mother’s stripes faded once, but then they came back. Odd, isn’t it?” Miles sighed. Poor Lucy. “Mine… may fade someday as well.” What was he saying? He was gonna kill himself in a month, those scars will never heal. And yet, they seem just a bit better after Franziska cleaned them. “I want to see when your stripes fade away! But they won’t if you don’t take care of them! … I know, I’ll take pictures! I can even dress you up like I used to! And we can take pictures every month until they fade away completely!”
… Well, shit. There goes his plans for next month. Fine, He can participate in this fashion show and THEN kill himself… right?
And so, Franziska puts him in a nice suit, makes him roll up his sleeves, and takes pictures. He tries different clothes, styles, he even tries on an old dress that once belonged to Franziska’s sister. He… kinda liked it.
So, the next month, they did it again. And again, and again, and again. Until Franziska left for Germany to continue her studies, they held these little fashion shows. They were the only thing keeping him alive, the promise that he made to show up every month. Now that she’s gone… Well, his urges stopped at some point. He didn’t want Franziska to see his scars getting worse, so he started ignoring his urges. He was over a year clean, and he was finding other reasons to live. He became a prosecutor, not as a way to punish himself or because he wanted to follow in Manfred’s footsteps, but because he found a way to enjoy it.
Years later, he’s faced Manfred in court, he’s faked his own death to reconsider what he wants, he’s helped Wright through his recent disbarment as much as he could… Now, things are getting a bit calmer. In fact, he’s finally able to sit down and talk with his sister.
There they sit in her living room, going through an old box of her junk. She pulls out an old photo album. In big bold letters on the front, written in permanent marker: “Miles’ Stripes”. “Hey, I remember this album… Don’t you, little brother?” She hands it off to Miles, who opens it and glances at the pictures. His teenage self, so full of angst, yet still wanting to make Franziska happy. He sighs and hands it back. “I remember that time in my life quite well. It was you that helped me out of it. If not for your help, I would not be the man I am today.”
Franziska rolls her eyes. “So dramatic, Miles Edgeworth. Your self made stripes were hardly the biggest issue in your life… Speaking of, how are those stripes of yours?” Miles rolls up his sleeve, showing the faint scarring of his forearm. “They’re gone, although not completely. I doubt they ever will be. And I’m serious, I was planning my suicide for that December when you decided to take those pictures. The only reason I re-thought my decision was because… There was this little girl who loved dressing me up and taking pictures, a little girl who didn’t understand what her brother was going through… she didn’t deserve to lose the boy that made her happy.”
Franziska pulls the camera out of the box and checks the film. There was room for one more picture. She turns it on and snaps a photo of her brother as he holds up his arm. She takes it out and sets it down for it to develop. “Well… I’m glad you lived long enough for you to be rid of your stripes. Let's hope they stay gone.”
“Don’t worry. They shouldn’t come back any time soon.”