"Do you believe in true love, Franziska?"

I look up sharply. Miles waves around a small, elegantly bound book. "Romeo and Juliet," he further says, his cheek rested on his hand, giving me an irritating smirk. "What did you think?"

"Wh-where did you get that?" I quickly snatch it from his hands. "I-it was for school!"

Miles smirks, giving me the same look that he always does, that condescending son-of-a…

"It was just lying on your desk, Franziska; it's not as though it's difficult to see or anything," he responds coolly. It's true. Our desks are placed head-to-head so that we see each other face-to-face at all times. It was Papa's idea. I think it was so I could ask Miles for help, which I don't need, by the way. It was just a precaution. It's more like Miles who asks me. After all, he is the little one here.

I return his sneer. "Es war ein dummes Buch mit nichts als Narren, die nichts Besseres mit ihrem Leben zu tun töricht gefüllt."* I say it quickly so I can see that look of confusion on Miles's face. It's worth it, even if his expression is only temporary.

"I see…you didn't like it?"

"I said, it was a foolish book filled with nothing but fools who have nothing better to do with their foolish lives," I explain, crossing my arms. "You have much to learn, little brother." Ah, the satisfaction of telling him that he is wrong. It's sweetness never fades, and I never tire of it.

Miles frowns at me. "I understood what you said; just because I didn't recite what you said doesn't mean I didn't understand." I wave my finger in response. "Right, Miles Edgeworth. Of course you did." I make sure that my sarcasm is clear.

Sighing, Miles continues to bend over his work, jotting down notes here and there. I slowly place my book back to its correct spot on my desk. I lean back in satisfaction. Now, everything is perfectly in place.

Without looking up, Miles says, "Why didn't you like it? It is a classic, after all."

I look up in surprise. Isn't obvious? Why would anyone like this foolish play? "Because! These two foo-….I mean, characters"—I change my wording because I know Miles doesn't like it when I say 'fool' so much—"threw away promising futures as minor royalty for what they thought was 'love'." The idea astounds me. To plan to marry someone that you just met is extremely brash. Besides, one night gives someone no time to learn of the other's imperfections. It can take days, weeks, or years to fully understand a person.

Miles continues to work. Without looking up, he says, "So, to answer my first question, you don't believe in true love?"

"Er- no! I didn't say that! I mean…" I feel my face beginning to grow red. "No! I don't!" Miles takes a glance at me and goes back to his work. "Oh?"

"That's right!" I try to put on my most confident face. Papa always says that if your enemies see any sign of fear on your face, they will surely take advantage of that. Miles is definitely my enemy. My rival, ever since he came to the manor. "After all, love is simply an emotion spurred by hormones. Simply a biological urge to find the best mate." Finally, those foolish biology classes at school are of use.

Suddenly, Miles sets his pen on the desk, a bit louder than usual. I have a feeling that he's irritated with me. But…why? I only stated the facts, made a perfect argument…He looks at me; his eyes are soft. I almost see a hint of sorrow in them, but it's quickly replaced by his customary condescending look. I grit my teeth. That fool, trying to provoke me by falsifying sadness. It used to work, when he first came. He was such a sad little boy, always moping about. But, I quickly learned that those serious, grey eyes of his…they were simply hindrances! Distracting pleas for pity! A von Karma needs no pity.

He stands up slowly, double-checking the papers he had been writing upon. I ask him out of curiosity, "Why?" He shakes his head, a small smile still on his face. "I was just curious about your take on a classic piece of literature. That's all." And he leaves. I observe him as he walks away. …He was definitely lying to me. That stupid, arrogant…

"Franziska!" my father barks from behind me. I stand up immediately, slightly rattled—but not too much!—by his voice, and turn to face him. "Yes, Papa?"

"Don't just stare off into space!" he snaps—both in manner of speech and literal action. "You have much studying to do! How else are you going to best Edgeworth?"

I nod solemnly. "Of course, Papa."

"Now, I'm going out of town for a few days for some court procedures. Make the best use of your time." His eyes flash. "Do not disappoint me."

"Yes, Papa."

He grabs his coat off of the coat rack and leaves, slamming the door behind him. It's not uncommon for him to leave on business for days at a time without him telling us previously. I slowly exhale. With Papa gone, I only have to watch out for Miles Edgeworth. Where is he, anyway…?

I hear a small giggle from the adjacent room. Ugh. It must be one of the maids, Antoinette. She's the most foolish of them all. I know I've caught her making eyes to Miles on several occasions. I dart to the doorway of the other room, remaining hidden, but listening intently. But, out of curiosity, I have to look. Sure enough, Antoinette is talking to Miles. She has that foolish smile as she foolishly bats her foolish eyelashes at him. But that isn't the part that makes me sick. It's the fact that Miles is standing there with her, not repulsed by her behavior.

Suddenly, my stomach lurches and I duck behind a wall where they can't see me. I can't even hear what they're saying; I can feel my heart palpitating. I take my pulse and frown. It's foolishly fast. Perhaps…I'm sick?

"Oh, Miles," I hear Antoinette say in that foolish voice. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to come with me?" My eyes widen. Eloping?

Miles responds, "I am quite sure; however, I thank you for all you have done for me." I frown. Though I know he would never run off with the maid, there is something in his voice that suggests that he would if he could. I peek at them from around the corner. Miles has taken hold of her hand. They exchange gracious smiles. I can't take it anymore; I run off to my bedroom and slam the door. I lean against the wall, that nauseous sensation returning. I don't understand how I could have gotten sick; I ensure that all of my food is properly made, and I never go anywhere where filth is lurking about. My chest feels hollow, and though it is no sharp pain, I almost want to cry. It's peculiar, because I never, ever cry. Never.

I crawl onto my bed and lie on top of the sheets, hugging my pillow. Maybe, if I close my eyes, this horrible feeling will go away…But it's of no use. When I close my eyes, all I can see is the image of Miles and Antoinette together. I hold my pillow tighter. That fool. Seeing this picture only makes the sensation in the pit of my stomach worse.

A knock comes on the door. "Miss von Karma?" a voice asks through the door. "Come in," I say in response. It's Gertrude, the head servant of the manor. As she closes the door behind her, she looks at me with a puzzled expression. "It's past six-o-clock! Why aren't you at supper?"

"I…I think I'm sick."

Gertrude frowns. "Sick! Oh, dear…" She waddles over to my bed and feels my forehead. "You are a bit warm… when did you start to feel sick?"

"Just this afternoon, when I…" I think back to what I saw. "…Just after Papa left."

"Hm… well, I'm sure some soup will make you feel better." She smiles at me. "Now, let's go downstairs, and…"

"Is Miles Edgeworth there?" I ask.

Gertrude looks at me, her expression once again puzzled. "…Yes. But he's waiting for you; he doesn't want to start without—"

"I don't want to see him!" I shout, clutching my pillow even tighter. "Go tell him!"

"…" Nodding solemnly, Gertrude exits. A few minutes later, she returns with a tray and a bowl of soup. "Here, Miss." She sets the tray on the nightstand. "Now, why don't you want to see Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Because he is a fool!" This is my automatic answer. Miles Edgeworth is not a fool, but it makes me feel better to call him that. It makes me feel less...Well, it makes sure that I keep my mind in the correct frame, that any von Karma is superior to the son of a defense attorney.

Gertrude rubs my shoulder consolingly. She's the only servant I let be that close to me, for she's been with the manor from before I was born. "Oh? Why is he a fool?"

"He…he was flirting with that maid, Antoinette." I scowl. "He is a fool for falling for her foolery."

"…" A small smile appears on Gertrude's face. "…Are you jealous, Franziska?"

"Jealous?" I exclaim, sitting up quickly. "Why on-….why would I be jealous…? Of her?" It's possibly the most foolish idea I've ever heard. A von Karma jealous of a servant…

Gertrude, as if she knows something that I do not, begins to smile more openly. "Well, what do you feel when you picture the two of them together?"

"I…I feel …ill. Nauseous," I say. When talking to Gertrude, it's always best to pursue honesty; I don't quite know how, but she can sense a lie with one hundred percent accuracy.

"Why do you feel that way?"

This question takes me aback. "Well, because it's…wrong to see them together. Miles Edgeworth and Antoinette. They aren't…she isn't…" I pause, trying to think of the right words. How difficult it is to put feelings into words! That's probably why we von Karma's don't discuss things as foolish as feelings. "It's because…Antoinette is unworthy of Miles Edgeworth's hand. Though he is a fool, he is still a student of the von Karmas! He deserves more! But I don't see—"

Gertrude interrupts me, a pitying look on her face, yet she still smiles. "Oh, Miss von Karma! I think you're a bit lovesick!" She clasps her hands together. "How adorable!"

"L-love?" I freeze. I've allowed myself to say too much. Papa always says that you should only say what's necessary and nothing more. Now I have to face the consequences. "B-but- …" I inhale and exhale deeply. "Impossible," I say. "I don't believe in love."

"But, Miss von Karma! Everyone finds love at some point or another—"

"They are fools!" I frown. This idea is more perplexing the more I think about it. "…It is only a foolish emotion; primal instinct. It is unrefined and,…and…"

Gertrude gives me this look as though she pities me. I don't know what feel's worse: the fact that Miles spends time with that foolish girl or the fact that a servant is pitying her master. "Oh, Miss," she says despairingly, standing up. "Hopefully someday you'll understand." I grit my teeth. Her condolences are irritating. "Wait!" I shout after her.

"Yes?"

"I'm still sick!" I say, almost desperately. "What am I to do?" I still don't understand what this feeling may or may not be, but I'd like to be cured.

Gertrude pauses at the door, looking up thoughtfully. "…Nothing," she says firmly. "There is no cure."

"Wh- what?" I'm terminally ill? Don't we live in the 21th century? I thought we had cures for, well, nearly everything!

Without any more answers, Gertrude leaves, a smile lingering on her face, and she shuts the door. Groaning, I sink my head back onto my pillow. This 'love' business is complicated… ugh, not that I could ever love Miles! After all, I hate him. I've always hated him, ever since he walked through the doors of the manor, his eyes downcast like the miserable urchin he is. Ever since he started studying under my father, just like me. Ever since he did better on our exams than I. Ever since he pulled me up when I tripped on the curb. Ever since he forgot my birthday this year after being the only one to ever remember it. Ever since…

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. "Franziska?" a voice asks from outside of my room. Miles Edgeworth's voice.

"Go away, Miles Edgeworth!" I shout. "I have no wish to see you!"

"You missed supper. Is everything alright?"

I throw my pillow against the door as forcefully as possible. "No! I mean, yes! Go away!"

It is quiet. I can hear Miles moving as though debating between walking away and staying. The rustling noise stops. I suppose he chose to stay. A foolish move. "Franziska," he says slowly. "…I'll just be leaving this in front of your door, then." I hear his footsteps grow dim. He's gone.

My curiosity urges me to open the door. As I do so, I look down and see a long box, covered in brightly-colored paper. I look down the hallways on either side of my door to make sure that no one is watching. As no one is there, I quickly tear the paper off of the box and take off the lid. Inside the box lays a riding crop, surrounded by tissue paper, presumably as a safety precaution, and a small scrap of paper with a message written in elegant handwriting. I pick it up.

It reads:

Dear Franziska,

I apologize for the tardiness of this package. It took a rather unprecedented amount of time for it to arrive.

Happy birthday.

Sincerely,

Miles Edgeworth.

I read and reread the note multiple times, my eyes darting back and forth between the message and the gift. I cautiously pick up the riding crop, examining it from every angle. To both my pleasure and dismay, I cannot find a single flaw. It is perfect. Presumably, it's for my horseback riding lessons that I've begun recently. A whip to train the steed. I smirk. Though intended for horses, there could be other uses for this, couldn't there?

I rush back down the hallway and into the study. "Miles Edgeworth!"

Miles, who's somewhere in the process of sitting down looks at me. It's his confused expression again. I grin. "What is it, Franziska?" he asks me.

"Miles, I…er…" My feelings of satisfaction quickly leaving, I stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to say. "Er…thank you…For this." I wave the riding crop. Somehow, I can make the words come out. They're foreign to me, not just because I'm speaking in English. Expressing gratitude is something Papa never taught me.

Miles gives me a small smile. "Your welcome, Franziska. I do hope you make good use of it. I had to send Antoinette out to get it this evening."

"A…Antoinette?"

"Yes. I had to make her go out on her own time to get it for you. You should be thanking her as well."

"…" I remain silent. The thought of thanking someone so inferior to myself is repulsive. I fiddle with my gift, holding it firmly in my hands. It's as though I was meant to hold this; it feels in place in my fist.

Time to test it.

I bring down my arm quickly, allowing the crop to make contact with Miles's arm. He reels back in shock. "Wh-what was that for?"

With a smile, I retract my new toy and bring my arm to my side. Success. "That, Miles Edgeworth, is for making me worry." At that, I walk away. I can imagine his puzzled expression as he tries to make sense of my words. But it's fine. He doesn't need to know.

I feel my forehead. It no longer feels warm. I smile. It appears that I wasn't terminally ill, after all. I'll have to speak with Gertrude about this later.

Ha! How foolishly foolish she had been! Love? How disgusting an emotion that would be! It is only primal instinct, something left for the less refined in our society. A von Karma has no need for love.

-.-.-

*I just used an online translator for this, as I don't speak German. So, if it's not a perfect translation, please don't be too upset. Thanks!