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madoka huffs. next to her, homura weeps, and it’s almost eerie how quiet she can be while literally sobbing. beyond them, the world lays in ruin, but her tears are not of sorrow.
“homura,” madoka coos, gentle as she is, and squeezes her hand. “homura, we need to move.”
homura just hiccups. “i did it,” she chokes out, and then manic, exhausted laughter bubbles out of her throat. “i saved you.”
madoka smiles tightly. the rain won’t stop pouring above them. “you did,” she tells her. “but we need to get going, now.”
she doesn’t know where they’ll go, honestly. their city — all madoka’s ever known — has been utterly obliterated. her heart aches every time she dares think about her mom, dad, or tatsuya; she doesn’t even think she can handle the idea of hitomi and her classmates. and just that morning, sayaka’s funeral. there’s nowhere to go: her home is gone, and so is homura’s.
god, everyone’s dead, madoka thinks, and something heavy sets in their chests. we couldn’t save everyone.
they’re not going anywhere, she realizes. it’s just wishful thinking. but it is still nice, to dream.
“where can we go?,” homura asks her, but her voice is light, like their world hasn’t just crumbled around them. “where— where do you wanna go?”
and madoka says, “we’ll see where we end up.”
hand in war-stained hand, they take shivering steps forward.
their souls, heavy and tired, crack.
homura laughs. the sound resonates through the wreckage. madoka’s heart skips a beat.
let’s go.
and they make the world beautiful again.