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Once she became a god, Madoka was enlightened to things she hadn't foreseen.
A new state of mind, a new perspective. A new outlook on life. Life, so fleeting. But so precious. She gave up everything just to protect life, to shelter it from the evils of the world.
She had wanted to shield her friends and loved ones from evil, to hide them away in a little bubble of safety and peace. So much so that, she ended up gathering all the evils in the world and swallowing them herself.
Madoka knew she would be sacrificing herself, but she was prepared for that. Complacent in her own demise, she absorbed all the sorrow, all the malice the world threw at her in her mortal life.
She was transformed into a god, a being of complete knowledge and presence. It was a strange feeling, sacrificing your own life for the lives of all others. When she cradled the whole world in her hands, she felt as if she was looking through a one-sided window.
Perpetually stuck to look on the outside, never allowed to join in on the fun ever again.
When Madoka had chosen to rid the world of all witches and turn herself into a god, she had forgotten about one thing.
Being a god was so, so lonely.
At first, Madoka relished in the sights. She made pretty skirts with galaxies, played with stars and cuddled the world she had sworn to protect.
A few thousand years in and it had start to sink in.
She was forced to stay here, alone. Nothing accompanied her but her thoughts, her memories of the world she once knew.
Madoka's new perspective on the insignificance of life made her surprisingly forgiving. Everything she used to hate, she now forgave. She used to curse at the wind, howling in grief, mourning her dead companions.
Now she simply wept a few tears of joy, remembering the happy times instead of dwelling on her misfortunes.
What was the point in keeping grudges with the world if the world will fade with time?
When Madoka remembered all her friends were long gone by this point, she was close to sleeping her sorrows away for another couple thousand years. She didn't want to face the truth, she didn't want to acknowledge the fact that all her friends were dead. She wanted to see them again, she wanted to keep their memory alive forever.
A new idea hit Madoka like a truck, she hadn't had an idea in years, decades, centuries.
A way to preserve their memory, but also a way to cure herself of her loneliness.
Rising from her previous state of laying down fetal position for the past hundred years, Madoka gently cupped together a bundle of stars.
She formed the figures of her two parents, sculpting them out of galaxies and milky ways. She hand-plucked a few dazzling stars as an accessory for her mother's beautiful hair.
Only the brightest, shiniest star for her dear mother.
Madoka then directed her attention to creating her adorable little brother, who she missed so dearly. Madoka tried her best not to let herself harbor regrets, but deep down, she couldn't stop herself from wishing for more time with her brother.
When she realized she could barely remember the face of her own blood, Madoka wept.
She cried and wailed for a long, long time. She couldn't keep track of the amount of years she must've wasted by simply crying.
She discovered though, that her tears can turn into crystals. Little tear drop shaped lumps of glitter and glass. Her tears crystallized and floated around her in the free, lightweight atmosphere.
The new discovery gave her courage to continue on with her goal.
Madoka lounged around with her family for what seemed like millennia.
Often, she closed her eyes, pretending it was a lazy, warm sunday morning. Her brother would cuddle into her side, her mom would be making pancakes.
It was until she awakened that she realized she was still in the same utterly cold yet shockingly beautiful endless space she had always been in.
Her brother was nothing but a clump of light, burning brightly but so.. unimportant.
It was then that Madoka realized she needed to step it up. Family was nice, but she missed her friends as well. Friends were an integral part of her life, after all. She wouldn't be here if it weren't for them, for their endless love and compassion for her. She knew she wanted to honor them as well.
Madoka gathered around bright, shiny stars again, forming her friends one by one. She created Hitomi and Sayaka first, her closest and dearest friends. She recalled their warm, sleepy days of walking to school early in the morning. She remembered having sleepovers and gushing about crushes they had (even though Madoka was always too shy to talk about her.)
Laying on her stomach, surrounded by her two friends, ranting to them about her new discovery of starry skirts, and hair pins made of dwarf planets, Madoka sighed in content. This.. was what she missed. Talking.
She never realized she missed the soft rumble she felt in her throat from the use of her vocal chords.
She had forgotten the satisfying flow of syllables, how words felt in her teeth.
She talked so much her jaw had started to hurt.
Madoka wasn't satisfied, though.
There were still more people to honor, more friends to talk to, more emptiness she needed to fill.
She created Kyoko, even if it was just to have someone to argue with.
Even if Kyoko never argued back.
She created Mami, just to feel jealous again. Mami was so pretty, so perfect. She was everything Madoka aspired to be, even if she knew she was far above Mami now.
Time and time again, Madoka would create her friends from stars, laugh with the memory of them, argue with them, and then forgive them again.
She felt like something was always missing.
Looking through her perfectly hand crafted pieces of art, her beloved masterpieces of glitter and sparkle, Madoka felt an indescribable gap in her chest.
Something was missing.
It took a couple years of laying down, making dresses of ice, stealing rings from planets to add to her accessories, and lots of talking to her friends that Madoka finally realized.
Having family was nice, having friends was great. But she knew what, or who was missing.
Her other half, what was once the darkness to her light, someone who kept Madoka grounded, the line to her oblivious, naive kite.
Her Homura.
This was special.
Madoka wanted to take her time with this. She knew Homura would always make her feel ten times better, ten times safer. That's why she wanted to put her all into creating what she once wished to be the love of her life, her partner in fate. Homura would do the same, after all.
Madoka made Homura perfectly. If the memories of her friends and family were fuzzy, Homura was perfectly clear.
She ran her fingers through long, silky, starry hair. Homura was so beautiful, so compassionate towards Madoka. She only wanted the best for her, Madoka could see it clearly now. Her actions used to be so strange to Madoka, so foreign. She never knew what Homura was thinking, but she always knew it would forever be rooted in her interest. That's what she loved most about Homura.
They laid together, Madoka kissed Homura's cheek in a gesture of goodnight that she always practiced on her pillow, wanting to make the real moment perfect. Now was as good of a time as ever.
Madoka pretended it was nighttime, as she softly slept.
It was the best sleep she had ever had, surrounded by her lover, friends, family. She hadn't meant to sleep so long.
She awoke to stardust surrounding her, enveloping her in a beautiful mass of solitude.
Even now, she outlived her friends in the test of time.