Chapter Text
Madoka watched, or rather, she had to. Would she still have watched in life?, no, in existence rather. Would she have watched Homura? The goddess could never bear knowing that anyone was suffering, even as a human girl. What’s worse is that it was Homura, and Homura remembered her. Why did Madoka think sacrificing herself would ever let Homura live in peace?
Was her sacrifice even worth it? She was a young girl who sacrificed the warmth of the sun, the taste of a good mean, the laughter of friendship, the feeling of the wind, the strange joy of a peaceful monotony, a future, life itself, and she had sacrificed Homura as well, all for the responsibility, not the power, of godhood. Why had she done it when she knew what Kyubey was doing? And a better fate was in the palm of hand? Was Homura’s fate even salvageable?
Madoka shook her head, if you could even consider she had a body, trying to clear away the thoughts. She had other responsibilities to think about.
For a moment, Madoka imagined that the embrace of the abyss was that of Homura’s arms. Was she even truly feeling anything at all? Madoka continued to watch all of them—not just Homura, Sayaka, Mami, Kyoko. All she had to do was wait for them. But it was quite grim, and rather selfish; to await the death of a dear friend.
Madoka watched with a soft frown on her face, the gentle bitterness of the moment putting a soft smile on her face as Homura looked simply looked at what was in front of her.
Madoka began to speak, her choked and teary voice falling unto unwillingly deaf ears; “You’re not worthless, you’re not alone.” Why did she have to relive watching the people she loves falling into despair, not being able to do anything? She reached out only to be met with coldness.