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Akemi Homura is a selfish, selfish child.
She had known this from her childhood, ever since that first time her father screamed at her mother behind closed doors. He was yelling at her for giving birth to such a sickly child, good for nothing but burning through his bank account. Why did I even agree to having a kid? he complained, and Mother agreed, yes, it was a mistake. Children are so selfish, they make such big messes and expect us to clean up after them. We should’ve remained childless and rich like my sister.
She knew this when she was all but abandoned at the hospital, paid medical bills the only indication that her parents hadn’t forgotten about her. Homura learns about her baby brother through an email, a designer baby given birth by a surrogate mother, because Mother and Father have learnt from her mistake and aren’t taking any more chances.
She knows this when she first lays her eyes on Madoka, and her heart sings, this one, I’ll have this one and nobody else. She knows this when she finds herself willing to sacrifice anybody—even Mitakihara and its entire population—if it means Madoka’s continued survival. She knows this when her Goddess arrives personally to escort her home, only for Homura to reach out with her greedy, wicked hands and tear heaven asunder.
Homura creates a false heaven, a labyrinth where every single one of Homura’s fantasies come to life. She imprisons the Goddess in this gilded cage, and doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about her sins.
Homura doesn’t consider the impact on the Law of Cycles when she does it. She doesn’t consider Sayaka and Nagisa, whom she would be ripping from their eternal rest, or the living magical girls still trapped in Mitakihara. She doesn’t even consider Madoka, not really—her Wish and her autonomy and her sacrifice, willingly given.
She just—she misses Madoka. Misses spending time with her, as a person she can see and touch, rather than a distant concept too great for human perception. Misses tutoring her over lessons Homura has sat through at least thirty times over, sharing bento boxes on the school roof after Homura let slip she hasn’t tasted a home-cooked meal since she was eight, having someone who sees her for who she is because Madoka was the first person to take the time to know her. Is she evil for wanting somebody like that by her side?
And Akemi Homura is a selfish, selfish child.
Is it any wonder she became a monster the way she did?
Imprisoning a Goddess is less difficult than Homura thought. Which isn’t a high bar to reach, considering Homura rearranged the cosmic Laws of the universe amidst a mental breakdown on a whim, because she couldn’t bear to witness Madoka remaining in that state of existence.
Homura allows Sayaka to spit poison at her, claiming she will expose Homura’s evil masterplan and rescue Madoka from this gilded cage. Ha, what masterplan? If somebody has one, Homura would like a peek.
The first time Madoka realizes something is ẅ̵̜̤̭̣̲̜̱̥͇́̋̒̿̌̐͋͘r̷͚͕̞̹̜͋̒͒͐̂̎̐͝o̶̟̙̩̣͜͝n̶̛͚͇͍͕̲͕̥̺̲̔͂̈́̐̓̚ͅg̴̢͙̼̣͓̤̗̕͜͜ is barely hours after Homura stole the Goddess away from heaven.
They are on their way to the nurse when it happens. A slight misstep, and then Madoka is realizing that her existence is g̶̤̈́͊͘͝ȓ̷̡̙̓͜͠e̷̯̽͘a̵̺̲̟̔͊́̿͝ț̷͠ě̸̘͒͠ṙ̸͔̐͌̽ than what she can be allowed.
Terror rests bitterly on the back of Homura’s tongue, as she quietly severs the connection between Kaname Madoka and the Law of Cycles (impossible, they are one and the same). Homura gently ties her Madoka’s red ribbons into her hair (proof of her sin) (a broken promise), swallowing her Clara dolls’ whispers of what do you think you’re doing / why do you think this will work / how long do you think this pitiful charade will last
Then; again, in the classroom, as Madoka is asked about her childhood in America. Which state did you live in? Why did your family move back to Japan? How does it feel to be a transfer student, are you adjusting well to the new environment?
There is nothing but a blank void in Madoka’s mind—the empty sheet of paper that remains after erasing most of Madoka’s memories from the book of her mind. Homura hastily weaves together a few stories, half-forgotten scenes from sitcoms she watched while wasting her life away in a hospital bed.
Sayaka frowns at Homura’s Madoka’s tales, but the rest of their classmates ooh and ahh at the correct intervals, seemingly enthralled by Madoka’s fake childhood. At her desk, Homura ducks her head, and smiles contently at Madoka’s voice.
Homura manages to befriend Madoka eventually. She gets invited to dinner at Madoka’s house. The Kanames are as friendly as Homura recalls. In another life, she would be thrilled to call them her in-laws.
“Onee-san,” Tatsuya tugs the bottom of Homura’s shirt, vying for her attention, “Your wings are so smooth and pretty! Why are they black and not white like Onee-chan’s? I wanna touch them. Can you please let me touch them? Onee-chan never lets me touch her wings.”
Madoka giggles, lifting her little brother from the ground. She ignores Tatsuya’s protests of “I’m not a baby anymore” as she cradles him in her arms, “Don’t mind him, Homura. Tatsuya has a big imagination, that’s all.”
Homura’s heart thuds in her chest, “Sure. You can touch my wings if you want.”
Tatsuya cheers. Homura leans forward, allowing the little boy to pet the empty air behind her back.
Madoka smiles at Homura behind Tatsuya’s back. Her features are soft, as if to say thank you for indulging him.
Homura smiles back. Her thrumming heart is trying to escape the confines of her ribcage.
Just in case, Homura rewinds time to the start of her visit. And again. And again and again and again, every time Tatsuya makes some claim about Homura’s non-existent wings, for in each occasion Madoka gifts Homura one of those soft, indulgent smiles, and Homura so desperately hungers for more. It is better to be safe than sorry, lest Madoka realize there might be truth behind Tatsuya’s wild imagination.
(it has nothing to do with the warmth that envelops Homura every time she enters the Kaname household. if she could, Homura would bask in this familial warmth for the rest of eternity.)
The sky g̶̢̧̟͚͓̮̩̻̜̗͍͌̇͛̀̊̒̏l̶̡̩̱͎͖̯̼͚͙͖̾͆͐̂͊͛̇ì̵̞͉͕͇̳̣͕̲̏͋̋ṫ̶̰̝̰̚c̵̛̛̈̀̽̽̊̈́͒̌̈̅̂̌̕ͅh̷̥̪̖͖̱̺͖̠͇̆̀̄̊́̏͘͜e̸̢̱͎͕̼̜̳̋̽̈̈́͒̀̿̿̀͜͝s̷̪̤̻̦̩̫̔̀͌͊̈́̐ on bad days. The fluffy clouds on the pale blue sky give way to the V̸̡̲̖̐́̐̀͠o̶̧̗͐i̵̠̦̟̮͕͖͚̟̿̑͗̃̀̑̋̒͜͠ͅd̷̦͇̺͖̝̩̞̜̟͎͒̉̒̀̊͗͊́̕͘͜͜͝͠͝, a black expanse swirling with the psychedelic colors of her L̷̛͈̟̇̍̒͐o̸̧̮̝̘̽̀͒͋͘ṿ̸̬̱̈́ę̶̼̤͇̋͗ and D̵̙̻̋̚͜e̸̯̒̒͌s̷̢͖̜̯̣͊̿̕p̵̛̮̬̙̒̃̄̅a̵̖̩̍͌̄̅͝i̶͖̤̒̿͜r̵͔̻̣̪͐̉̉͋͌. It is on those days that the voices of her Clara dolls are especially loud in her head.
Madoka always makes sure to stick close to Homura on those days, though she can’t possibly know anything is wrong. Madoka’s hand brushes Homura’s fingers as Homura tutors her in math, their shoulders knock together as they walk home from school, and Madoka laces her fingers through Homura’s as she drags Homura through the mall.
There’s no proof that these touches are anything other than casual affection between friends, but Homura hopes knows they are anything but.
how wicked, how cruel! her Clara dolls giggle in delight, to take advantage of your love’s innocence like that! truly you are worthy of being named the Devil, the Selfish One, the greedy child who takes and takes—
Warm palms envelop Homura’s hand. As if burnt by the touch, her Clara dolls s̴̤͓͕̭̯̎̿͘c̶̦̰̔̅̌́r̷͚̀͑̈́e̴̛̬̜̭̼̞̾̓̚̚e̴̡̞̤̔͜c̶̡̡̛̹̠͎̃̀͋͊h̸̢̹̲̗̘̓̔̓͠ and recede into her subconsciousness. Homura glances up, to find Madoka squeezing her hand with a worried frown, “Are you okay? Just now, you looked like—”
“I’m fine.” Homura quickly reassures. A glance through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the mall reveals the sky as V̸̡̲̖̐́̐̀͠o̶̧̗͐i̵̠̦̟̮͕͖͚̟̿̑͗̃̀̑̋̒͜͠ͅd̷̦͇̺͖̝̩̞̜̟͎͒̉̒̀̊͗͊́̕͘͜͜͝͠͝ -black. Afterimages of her Clara dolls dance in the sky, a mockery of a ballroom waltz. Gritting her teeth, Homura snaps her fingers. Feathery clouds replace the V̸̡̲̖̐́̐̀͠o̶̧̗͐i̵̠̦̟̮͕͖͚̟̿̑͗̃̀̑̋̒͜͠ͅd̷̦͇̺͖̝̩̞̜̟͎͒̉̒̀̊͗͊́̕͘͜͜͝͠͝ -black sky. Her Clara dolls incinerate in a cacophony of screams.
“What was that, Homura?” Madoka asks. She peers through the window Homura was scowling at, but finds nothing but a dreamy blue sky decorated by genial white clouds.
“Nothing.” Homura smiles. She pulls Madoka away from the window with their entwined hands. “What were you saying about that kitten plushie you wanted to buy?”
The seasons go by. Summer break, then Christmas, then spring break is upon them in the blink of an eye.
“I can’t believe Mami-senpai is graduating already,” Madoka sighs. “We’re going to be third years in April. Can you imagine? Time passes by so quickly.”
Homura can’t imagine. She has never gotten along well with Tomoe Mami, not even in this labyrinth of her fantasies brought to life. But what is Mitakihara Middle School without Mami randomly accosting them in the hallways? Next month, Mami will leave for high school, and Madoka’s class will move to the classroom Mami used to occupy.
Homura can’t imagine it, so she doesn’t. It is the work of a wave of her hands, to fold time backwards over itself. A synchronous blink of every single person’s eyes, and Madoka is about to start the second year of her middle school life instead of the third.
Time loops around to consume itself in this false heaven Homura fashioned. Madoka will never grow up, never grow old, never grow apart from Homura. Everything is maintained in perfect equilibrium, in the exact manner that Homura likes it. This is a paradise that entropy cannot touch.
And Homura, as the greedy child who never knows when enough is enough, only wishes for things to stay this way for the rest of eternity.
It all falls apart eventually.
(of course it does)
(Homura is only surprised it took so long)
(her Clara dolls mock her, did you think your false heaven would last?)
The resulting battle shakes the cosmos.
Homura’s time magic has only grown more powerful since her descension, enabling her to manipulate time and space in such a way she can break the Laws of reality at will. But Madoka spent so many years trapped in this labyrinth—if she didn’t grow immune to Homura’s tricks, she wouldn’t have discovered the artificiality of this Mitakihara, and Homura wouldn’t be locked in a battle with her love in the first place.
Stripped of her primary weapon, Homura can only resort to the bow Madoka gifted her, all those years ago. But there is something she didn’t take into account—or perhaps she did, only to force herself to forget in her guilt—
First thing first, that bow was Madoka’s before it became Homura’s.
(“I have no use for you anymore,” Madoka told the faithful weapon that saw her through so many timelines, “Won’t you go to the mortal plane, to protect Homura in my stead?”)
Second, the bow is more loyal than Homura will ever be.
(“You’re ruining yourself by spending so much time with me! Magical girls have to socialize too; you can’t solely hunt wraiths for the rest of your days. Madoka told me to take care of you—please, it’ll break her heart to know you’re burning your days away like this.”)
Third, Homura was cradling that bow when she tore Madoka from the heavens, and the bow remembers how she betrayed its master.
(“I’m sorry, Homura. You can’t avoid communicating with Madoka forever. This is for your own good. It was an honor being your magical weapon.”)
Madoka curls her fingers—that is all it takes. Suddenly, Homura finds herself holding onto empty air, her bow abandoning her to return to its original master. Purple paint flakes off ebony wood, Madoka’s magic burning Homura’s taint from the bow. Like a sapling growing from the ashes of a forest fire, hazel brown overtakes the initial ebony black. The limbs of the bow curve into delicate branches that blossom with pink petals.
Madoka pulls back her bowstring, notching an arrow of pure magic. Homura bends the space-time continuum between them, but the pink arrow cuts through reality like a knife through butter, easily finding its mark in Homura’s wing.
It doesn’t hurt. That, more than anything else, surprises Homura.
Her distraction costs her. A volley of arrows rains down upon Homura, sinking into her—wings, arms, torso, legs. They pin her in place, held to the fabric of reality like a criminal staked to the ground. It still doesn’t hurt, but…
She experimentally flexes her fingers, finding them numb.
Homura can’t move.
Homura folds the space around her, encasing herself in a labyrinth like a protective shell. But Madoka lifts the wards with a brush of her hand, as effortlessly as pushing a curtain aside.
For the first time in over a decade, Homura finds herself staring down Madoka’s divine form.
Homura swallows, her throat dry, as the Goddess stalks towards her. There is a deadly beauty to Madoka that Homura isn’t accustomed to seeing, frustration burning in Madoka’s golden eyes and a white-knuckled grip on her bow that is visible even through her white gloves. Pink magic flickers around the Goddess, like the flames of a ravaged city.
And the thing is, as much as Madoka can be considered a Goddess of Hope and Mercy, she is also the Goddess of War and Death. Like most of her magical girls, Madoka ascended in the aftermath of a bloody battle—in the ruins previously known as Mitakihara City. She is an omen of Death as much as a beacon of Hope, and like this—
Madoka finally looks the part.
You’ve finally done it! Homura’s Clara dolls cheer in her mind, finally found the bottom line to the Goddess’ mercy, finally used up all of Madoka’s goodwill! Congratulations! We hope you’re satisfied. The Death you’ve been courting is near at last.
Madoka kneels next to Homura, dispelling her bow with a flick of her wrist. She takes a deep breath, “Homura…”
Homura can’t help but flinch back.
Madoka’s eyes are wide.
“…you’re scared of me.” she whispers, voice impossibly small and confused, and—oh, Homura thought she can’t possibly feel worse, but here she is, her monstrous heart torn in half by how broken Madoka sounds because of her.
Homura throws her head back, and laughs. If failure could speak, it would make the same sounds as the strangled vibrations from her throat. “Shouldn’t I be?” she smiles bitterly, “I betrayed you. I expressly went against your Wish, tore you from the heavens, spat on every ounce of trust you gave me! Your Law of Cycles is in tatters because of me!
“…Homura. Even so…why do you think I would ever hurt you?”
“Well, maybe you should! I’m a monster, the Devil. I’m the antithesis to your very Existence! I’m worse than Kyubey, because even when that thing used us it didn’t have enough emotions to act maliciously. I’m such a selfish—”
“You were lonely.” Madoka corrects quietly. “You must’ve been, after I left you alone in that altered world with nobody else knowing the Truth. That…that isn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine.”
Homura grits her teeth. Even at a time like this, Madoka’s still… “Don’t go blaming yourself for my decisions! After all this time—shouldn’t you have learnt better!? You can’t just—”
You can’t just take on everybody’s burden for them. Except Madoka can, and she will, because that’s her Nature and the Nature of her Wish—to carry the burden of every witch in existence so that no magical girl will ever have to experience it. And the Nature of the Goddess is as heavy as it is inevitable—it is exactly what Homura was trying to steal Madoka away from, and now that she failed, of course Madoka will blame herself for Homura’s actions as well. It’s on Homura that she didn’t see this coming.
Madoka gives Homura a small, sad smile. “Then don’t blame yourself too. It hurts me seeing you like this, Homura.”
Homura closes her eyes, exhaling sharply. “How can I not? I ruined everything you worked for, Madoka, and I’m not sorry about it. You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. As long as I exist…who knows what I’ll do next time, if given the chance? You should kill me, destroy my essence and scatter it across the cosmos, until I become less than a concept—less than your damned existence—”
“Stop trying to use me to punish yourself!” Madoka shouts, but that isn’t what makes Homura shut up. It’s the unshed tears in her golden eyes. With a flick of her wrist, Madoka dispels the arrows pinning Homura in place. Even as the flaming bolts of pink energy dissipate into fine mist, Homura doesn’t move. She is restrained by a force greater than the Goddess’ magic. “Don’t—don’t talk about yourself like this. Please. I can’t stand it.”
Homura swallows, “But…I’m not. Trying to punish myself.” Liar, her Clara dolls whisper. “I don’t—I only meant—the truth. I don’t regret what I did. I will do all of this again, if it means—”
If it means Madoka will be happy. But she won’t be, and so Homura won’t cannot betray her again.
“You’re lying.” Madoka observes blankly, “If you truly didn’t regret what you did, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to get me to—to kill you.”
“I’m not—” Homura begins, then stops. She can try to deny it all she wants, but…
She can’t give Madoka another answer to her actions. Because…because Madoka is right, as always. Homura wants Madoka to take her revenge, for it is only in her vengeance that Homura will find absolution.
Except that is a pointless endeavor since the start, for when has Madoka ever exacted revenge on those who wronged her? Even Mikuni Oriko and Kure Kirika, with their hands stained in Madoka’s blood, have a place in Madoka’s heaven.
Homura’s shoulders slump in defeat. “But I still—I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“Then it’s a good thing my forgiveness doesn’t depend on you.” Madoka smiles, the tension in her shoulders easing now that Homura has stopped trying to get her to take revenge. “Besides, what you did isn’t as unforgivable as you think it is.”
Homura scoffs. “I literally tore a hole in the Law of Cycles to extract your essence.” she says dryly, “I very much doubt that.”
“The tear in the Law of Cycles is…” Madoka grimaces, hesitating, “…salvageable. You know the souls of a few magical girls fell through the rift, but we can easily collect them. Repairing the crack is a bit more difficult, but...given time and no more magical girls going through the rift…it will be fine. The tear has already begun weaving itself back together, hasn’t it?”
Madoka pauses, then adds. “I’m not forgiving you because the damage you did isn’t permanent. Even if you did cause permanent harm to the Law of Cycles, I would still forgive you. But if it would help you forgive yourself…just know that you didn’t hurt anyone as grievously as you think you did.”
But that doesn’t mean Homura didn’t hurt anybody. And while Madoka might be the most forgiving person in the universe, Homura is incredibly good at holding grudges.
Madoka must see some of Homura’s sentiments leaking through her expression, because she sighs, “If you truly want to seek absolution for—for your perceived sins, you’d stop trying to punish yourself. That doesn’t fix anything except making both of us more miserable than we need to be.”
“Then what would you have me do instead?” The question comes out more pleading than Homura meant for it to sound. She thought she had shed that part of her the moment she decided to go against Madoka’s Wish, but—deep within Homura, there is still a glasses-wearing child begging for Madoka’s approval.
“My forgiveness isn’t earned, but if you still want to make amends…” Madoka smiles, “I would have you ascend into the Law of Cycles with me. You’d work with me to repair the rift in the Law of Cycles, rule over Death by my side, and every responsibility—every power I have—I will share with you.”
Homura chokes on her own tongue. She…Madoka is… “You…you really mean that?”
The tears previously present in Madoka’s eyes have been replaced by an amused gleam. “Yes, Homura. Let’s rebuild the Law of Cycles together. Back then…after I made my Wish, didn’t you ask me not to take on every burden by myself? You wanted to come with me, so that we can take care of each other. Don’t you want to make that wish come true now?”
“But. But I betrayed the Law of Cycles. I betrayed you.” Homura takes a deep breath, “I…I can accept your forgiveness, if you insist—but I can’t accept your trust, Madoka.”
“And here I thought you said you’re selfish.” Madoka murmurs. Homura flinches, making Madoka wince. “Sorry. But why shouldn’t I trust you? You only tore me from heaven because you missed me, and thought I was unhappy there. And I know you won’t do the same thing again, so what do I have to gain by keeping you at arm’s length? Besides…”
Madoka hesitates. “…maybe you were right, just a little. The truth is…maybe I was a little lonely.” she chuckles, self-deprecatingly, “Isn’t that selfish of me? I had Sayaka there, and all these magical girls to keep me company. But…as much as Sayaka and the other magical girls try…none of them are on the same level of existence as me. But you, Homura, you fashioned yourself as the Devil so that you could share my burden, and…is it selfish of me, to want to enjoy that?”
“What? No! It isn’t—you’re not—I’m selfish. You’re the most selfless person I know.” Homura refutes instinctively, “And—and even if you are, you’re—you’re allowed to want things, Madoka. You give and give and give—for the entire time I know you, you’ve been sacrificing parts of yourself for the people around you, until ultimately you sacrificed your entire existence for all magical girls. And…your selflessness is beautiful, but…it also hurts, watching you take on everyone’s burden. I just…maybe you should be selfish, if it means you can be happy.” she swallows, licking her lips. Where did all those words come from? She didn’t even know they were buried inside her heart until Madoka made her spill them out. “I…I want you to be happy, Madoka.”
“In that case…” Madoka peers at Homura coyly, “if I take a bit of your selfishness, and give you a bit of my selflessness, won’t we be in perfect balance? We can both be happier, that way.”
Homura can’t help but giggle, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Oh?” Madoka raises her eyebrows, “But this is how I decided it works. We’re gods now, Homura, who’s gonna tell us no?”
Homura’s lips twitch upwards, “Miki Sayaka, probably.”
Madoka giggles, “Well, she’s not here right now. It’s just you and me.” she leans forward, holding out her hand, “So will you join me, Homura? Make amends by standing by my side. Let’s move forward together. Learn to see what I see in you—maybe then you’ll one day find it in you to forgive yourself.”
Homura takes Madoka’s hand. But this time, she doesn’t drag the Goddess down into the depths of her hellish desire. The Devil allows the Goddess to pull her up, and then they ascend—
Together.