Whenever Miles Edgeworth looked upon Franziska, he never saw a child. Instead, there was an image of a powerful woman with enough strength to win any war easily. A hand that could mold the very foundation of the Earth and with a snap, reduce it to nothingness. A heart that was after his own. A woman whose voice could make grown men tremble and yet, make birds cry out in an immaculate chorus.
Today his heart would be sitting across from him at the dinner table, a subtle smile spread across her thin lips. In between sips of milk, her lips would part and the sapphires in her eyes would glisten, only to shortly close afterwards. Silent as ever, the young girl would resume partaking her dinner.
Quickly he'd advert his gaze as the head of the table gave a small cough. The young adult could feel Manfred von Karma's eyes pierce him, as he shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth quickly. Dinner was often like this; several things that wanted to be spoken, but silence overcome them all.