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She thinks the water is watching her.
Waist deep, her knees to her chest, the few bubbles tracing the rim of her tub seem to blink. Homura dry swallows and tries to relax.
She tugs at the curtains again, and makes sure they hide her pale visage from the fogging mirror. It’s so awfully cold, and only getting chillier, and chillier. She twists the handle as far as it can go and almost-lukewarm water rushes out of the spout.
Odd, that was the only good word for it— the slight fizzing sound from the spout could only be compared to voices, coaxing her deeper, whispering, “give in, just give in-”
Give in to what? She feels she’s already “lost” to the ick and sick she was freezing in. The water feels viscous, slimy, even, and no matter how much she argues with herself it's all in her head, nothing can deny how it presses down on her legs, gnaws at her chest, drags her down by the hair. She can’t muster the energy to do anything more than sit there and stew in her failure.
What could she do? Maybe, at some point, she might have had the power to drudge herself out of this mess, but whatever that had been it was well beyond her now. She blinks and the thought is gone— usually, it’s gone. In a flash, with a sigh and a shake of the head, quit dreaming both feet on the ground—
—Yet it lingers, a strange glow buzzing behind her eyelids. A familiar feeling bubbles from inside, a weary mahogany, something that was both hers and everything but.
She lets out a shuddering sigh, and traces a finger along the water, sending ripples across the tub and waves over the brim.
Regret, that was the feeling, the itch that traveled up her spine, reverberated in her ribcage— she sunk into the cold, sticky tears of that girl, which girl? The one she’d wanted to— to— to what? To hold, to save, to see—?
She could see her.
The thought stills her stuttering heart— her head jerks to the shower curtain, pulled right off the hinges, as the shadow head burst and the water crashed onto the tiled floor and the foggy mirror began to drip blackened water from steadily growing cracks.
She’d seen her the whole time. The muck peels off of her pale skin and leaves a deep stain, coalescing into a something-someone, and she feels split between fear and shame. She couldn’t do anything against this thing oh god she couldn’t— why didn’t she do anything before she became this-
(But maybe she could try, for the sake of her knight in shining armor.)
“Sayaka-!” She reaches out; the shadow reaches her first—
“It’s okay Homura, there’s nothing you can do. Please don’t stress your poor heart. Let me do this for you and you’ll never want for anything again.”
Homura gasps and jerks forward, teetering on the precipice between bewildered and sleepy.
What a strange dream she’d had! It was almost as absurd as waking up in her bathtub, and maybe a sign she should go to bed earlier.
What time was it, anyway? Sunlight shines through a tiny window near her ceiling, it must be, maybe Five PM, Four if she’s lucky— at least now she could guess what she was doing in the tub. What was she doing in the tub?
Right, she had to bathe to go to her ballet classes- and quickly! They started by Five, usually, and Sayaka had offered to walk her to them— she hoped she wasn’t particularly busy today. Homura balked at the thought of Sayaka just standing and waiting for her while she was just knocked out in the shower.
(Or had Sayaka already been over? She shakes the thought away and twists the knob.)