Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off of this, and Capcom owns all the characters, except the seamstresses and nanny.

A/N: On Objection! (the ace attorney fanfiction forum) there was a challenge asking someone to explain the story behind Franziska's whip. This was my response. It would be in German, but my German is heinous and I don't trust online translators. So, just imagine they speak German.

"Ms. von Karma! Your father has summoned you to his study."

Franziska looked up from the book she was studying at her nanny, then nodded, stood and curtsied. "Yes, thank you very much, ma'am. I'll be with him shortly." The ten year old little girl put a ribbon in her ice blue hair, smoothed her rumpled wine-red skirts, and departed from her personal study chamber. Her footsteps echoed in the large hallway, and, as she turned the corner, she caught a quick glimpse of her seventeen year old "little brother" as he pored over a large stack of papers, his dark hair obscuring most of his face. Snorting at his inability to do anything right, she quickly ascended the stair, and within minutes, she was outside her father's study. Knocking carefully on the door, she smoothed her hair one last time before a deep voice within called, "Come in." Pushing open the ornate door, she stepped lightly into the room, and faced her father across the large teak desk, her hands clasped behind her back.

"You called for me, father?"

Manfred von Karma surveyed his daughter carefully.

"Yes, I did, Franziska. I've arranged for you to be fitted for new dresses. The ones you have now seem to be a little too short. I'll not have it."

Franziska nervously wiped her damp palms on the back of dress, hoping her father wouldn't notice this crude action. She hated fittings, what with the way the no-nonsense women flitted around her, wrapping cords around her body and poking and prodding every inch of her, all the while mumbling about spoiled little girls. She decided to attempt to make an excuse for not needing new clothes.

"Excuse me, Papa, but I really do not think I need new dresses. The ones I have are not that short, and we would be ill-advised to waste money on such clothing when there really is no need. Wouldn't it be better to cancel the fitting and wait until the clothes are really too small? After all, you always say, 'A frugal man is a wise man'. I'm only taking your words and applying them to our current situation!" she added as her father's expression grew frosty.

"I'll not have my own daughter questioning my word! You will be fitted for your new dresses, and you'll not question my actions again! Come here."

Franziska stepped forward nervously.

"Hold out your hands."

She did as she was told, and her father rapped a ruler sharply across her knuckles. The young girl blinked rapidly several times, but showed no other sign that anything had happened.

"Very good. You may go. The seamstresses should be waiting in your rooms."

Franziska left, dreading what she would find in her bedroom.

What she did find were the usual hard eyed, unkind, no-nonsense seamstresses mumbling about spoiled little girls.

It seemed that stereotypes were not always wrong.

One seamstress, with dark hair and muscles like a blacksmith, grabbed the young girl and curtly told her her to strip to her undergarments. Franziska did as the seamstress wanted her to, then looked grimly at the ceiling as the measuring tape snaked around her body. However, the fitting was over almost before it began, and the seamstresses started showing her dress designs. Relieved, Franziska reached for her clothe, just as the door opened.

"Franziska? I was wondering of you had ... Papa's... copy of Prosecuting Prodigies: Getting that Guilty Verdict... oh my..."

Franziska backed away, her mouth open in horror, as she grabbed her dress and tried to cover herself with it. Her "little brother" instantly cast his eyes down as he backed from the room, muttering apologies. Then, Miles made one of the worst mistakes of his life. He recalled the way she screamed when he'd seen her in that pathetic little pink A-cup bra, and those little lacy pink panties, and he chuckled.

"MILES EDGEWORTH!! HOW DARE YOU!!" Everything was gone from Franziska's mind at that moment. She dropped the dress covering her stomach, and grabbed the measuring tape from the floor. Running up to Miles, she whipped him painfully across the face with the sharp metal edge. He yelled, and backed up, but she was on him, whipping him with all the strength she could muster. He turned and fled down the hall, but she gave chase, screaming at him.

"What's going on?!" Manfred stood before the two "siblings", rage emanating from him. "I'll not have you two behaving like savages! Miles! Go to your room. I'll tend to you later" Edgeworth bowed and hurried from sight. "Franziska. Dress and report to me in my study directly after. Dismissed." He turned and left, leaving the little girl alone in the hall.

Now dressed, Franziska knocked on her father's door, nervously twining her fingers together. After being invited in, she stood before her father, who didn't face her, but put his hands on his desk and started into space. He didn't say anything for a while.

"Papa? Aren't you going to... punish me?" Franziska asked.

"You know what you did was wrong, correct? You know that you've disgraced my home and the von Karma name?"

"Yes, Papa"

He turned around, and he was holding a whip made of well-used leather.

"Now that we've discussed that, I want you to have this. It was your mother's. She was an extraordinary woman, and she had a fiery spirit. The spirit I see in you. "

Franziska tenderly held the whip, smiling at the artifact that had been her mother's.

"That is all. You may go"

Franziska curtsied and turned to leave, shocked that she hadn't been punished.

"Franziska..." Manfred called.

"Yes, Papa?" Franziska asked, hoping he hadn't changed his mind about punishing her.

"I leave the punishment of Miles Edgeworth to you. You may use him to break in your new gift."

Franziska curtsied once more, leaving the room with a wide smile.

This was bound to hurt worse than a measuring tape...