Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It had been done. The Witch had succeeded in her cruel ambition, and had taken the Goddess for herself. She had flayed her own mind and used the scraps to construct a gilded cage where the Goddess could be happy. She had deprived the universe of Her love, and she had sequestered it all for her own selfish needs. The wretched creature who would perform such an act of iconoclasm could only be called a Devil.

The Angel had not been happy, but the Devil had not expected her to be. Her self-righteousness had been part of what had damned the Goddess to Her eternity of loneliness in the first place. She had raged and resisted the Devil, clinging to her own values above those of all others. Typical. Once her wings were clipped,  however, it had been easy to placate her with a normal life and the company of the Stray.

The Devil was envious. Why should she get to love so freely?

The Doll had gone without a fight. Desperate for another chance at a good life, another path for her soul to take, rather than the desolate hell it had fallen down before. Her first life had been cut far too short, and ended far too terribly to be considered ‘lived’, and so when presented with the opportunity, she had jumped at the chance. She was peaceful now. The Devil almost pitied the poor child. Almost.

The Devil was envious. Why should she deserve a second chance?

The Paragon had acted similarly. She had accepted the new world with a willingness that had surprised the Devil. She had been expecting resistance from one so set in her ways as the Paragon was, but instead had been met with understanding and gratitude that was not deserved, especially by a being as wicked as she. The Paragon had passed peacefully into the new world, and now enjoyed her wonderful life alongside the Doll.

The Devil was envious. Why should she get to be happy?

The Stray too, had been a shock. The Devil had expected her to take the offering of the Angel in open arms and seize it so tight that not even the Goddess would have been able to separate them. Instead, the Stray had put up almost as much of a fight as the Angel. A pity. The Devil was rather fond of the foul-mouthed girl. Once her fire had been dulled, however, she had been placated in near the exact same manner as the Angel had, with a life alongside the one whom she most loved.

The Devil was envious. Why should she get her storybook romance?

The Goddess was happy now. She had been returned to Her family, unharmed and saved from her loneliness. She was, like the Doll, allowed a chance to live Her life, without being damned for the sake of a universe that felt little and cared not. The Goddess had been Saved. And all it had taken was the single greatest act of sacrilege ever perpetrated, a sin so great as to birth a new Devil into Creation, to fill the gaps left behind from the shattering of The Cycle.

The Devil was happy. The one she loved most had her life back, even at the cost of the Devil’s own mortal soul.

(The mourner cried, for the world could not hear her. She wept for the one she had loved so dearly, now lost forever, separated eternally by the immensity of her sins.)

The world was new. The people were free. They had the luxury of bathing in the hope of one dawn after the next, saved from their sins by the suffering of girls who would go unknown. Saved from the damnation they had earned by the sacrifice of the most perfect girl of all, the one who the Devil had given everything for, the one the Devil no longer deserved.

(A puppet show acted out for the eyes of the one person who could not behold it. A tale told to an audience of the deaf. A play that would wind onwards, bereft of all meaning without a person to watch it.)

The Devil was hateful. Why should they be saved, when the one doing the saving was the one most deserving of salvation?

The Devil was alone. She had been denied the mercy of oblivion, and her final chance to garner the love of the one she had given everything to save. She had been dragged from the true freedom of her own demise, and forced towards the salvation from a broken system, the salvation of an empty garden, constructed from lies of hope.

She had been weak, been pitiful, been at the lowest point of her life. And she had met the most perfect, lovely, kindest girl who had ever existed. And without remorse, fate had ripped her from the Devil’s grasp. Again, and again, and again. 

She had seen the girl whose existence gave hers meaning, whose kindness could swallow the universe, and had seen her crushed, and ripped, and impaled, sacrificed upon the altar of unfairness.

She had seen the girl she loved from the bottom of her heart and with the entirety of her soul cast selflessly into the gullet of eternity, signing away her own peace in exchange for the salvation of all who came before her, and the millions that would follow in her wake. And she had rebelled. She had railed against the injustice of it all. How could one so perfect be allowed to suffer so that the ones who did not know, who would never know, would never deserve her, could know peace at the end.

She had pulled the Goddess from Her heaven, and had bound her within this earthly prison. She had taken her own salvation, the one thing she had left to give, and she had burned it on the pyre of her own love. Love for the girl who had been so perfect. Love for the one thing that had ever given her a reason to live. Love for a person who had given it all out of love for the universe. Love for the one who she had never deserved, and would never be able to have.

The Devil was glad. Why should she not give everything to the only person in this cruel universe who had ever shown her kindness? Why would she not give all that she had, and all she ever had, for a girl who deserved so much more than anyone could ever give her?

The Devil mourned, for she knew this could not last. Fate was a resentful viper, and someone who had gone to such efforts to spurn her would never be allowed to have peace. Her perfect world would come crashing down, fractured like the glass of a mirror destroyed in a fit of divine rage. But until that time came, the Goddess was safe, and happy, and could live her life without the worry that came with her responsibility. And so, until that time came, the Devil would dig her claws in, and she would protect her dream until her last breath.

The sun shone upon the cobbled path that led to Mitakihara Middle School.  Hundreds of feet clattered against the stone as a horde of students made their way unhurriedly towards the towering school buildings. They continued their daily routine, unaware of what was happening in a world beyond their understanding.

If someone were to look to the trees, they would find normal ravens, beady eyes staring back at them with undisguised intelligence.  Unless you were one blessed with knowledge, that is. If one so cursed peered into the trees, they would find unevenly built plush birds staring back at them, button eyes flat and unfeeling, stuffed bodies moving too stiffly to be real birds.

One with such knowledge was Akemi Homura. As the architect of this perfect facade, naturally she could see right through it. Her own walk to school proceeded the exact same as it normally did. Lonely. Quiet. Isolated. Regardless of the multitudes of excitable teenagers surrounding her, her world was full only with isolation. She was set so far apart from them that she might as well not be human. Which, of course, she wasn’t.

The Devil reflected on her handmade paradise. The world had progressed without a hitch so far. An entire month had passed since she had escaped her own barrier and saved the Goddess, since she had made this gilded cage in which the only person who mattered could have a happy life, and grow up safely, the way she never would have before.

Of course, nothing perfect comes about without sacrifice. The Devil had been forced to sacrifice what remained of her humanity to do so, ascending above even the pseudo-immortality possessed by Magical Girls. She could never die, not even after the erosion of a million years had buffeted her body. Everyone she would ever know would grow old and die before even a sliver of her life could pass. 

She was also deprived of the silence of death, which would have been an ending to her suffering. And most of all, she was denied the salvation proffered to all other Magical Girls by the Law of Cycles, by the system Madoka had given her own mortal existence to create. But that was fine. She no longer deserved salvation anyway. Not after what she’d done to the girl who had offered it out of nothing but the boundless kindness of her heart. Not after she’d stomped on the earnest wish of the girl she treasured above everything else in Creation.

And there was the worst sacrifice by far. She had to stay away from Madoka. No matter how much she might want to, she could not allow herself to indulge in the company of her beloved. It was safer that way. Madoka could have a normal life, far away from anything to do with Magical Girls, and especially far away from the Devil who had betrayed her. It didn’t matter how Homura’s heart tore itself to shreds in protest, mourning the loss of the one person who’d ever cared about her.

It didn’t matter how painful it was to stay away from Madoka.

It was what needed to be done, for Madoka to remain happy.

And besides, Homura no longer deserved the company of the Goddess she had defiled.

Seeking to move away from the painful topic of Madoka, Homura’s mind turned to the other girls who had been brought into this gilded cage. Miki Sayaka, Sakura Kyoko, Tomoe Mami, and Momoe Nagisa. All four girls had been given the better lives that they were deprived of by the Incubator’s cruel system. The former two had been positioned to live together, as Homura knew the two’s closeness to each other would keep them placated, and stop them from searching for the truth. 

The latter two had also been placed together, but that was mainly so that Tomoe Mami did not take her own life. The girl’s mental state was fragile at the best of times, but without any kind of mission to devote herself to, her feelings may boil over. It was also a convenient way to keep the other Messenger within convenient reach. Had Homura not done so, she may have disappeared into the foster system, and been difficult if not impossible to keep track of. And Homura had to keep track of her. If she remembered, it was more likely than not that she would try and reawaken Madoka’s memories.

And that could not happen.

Otherwise, it seemed no other Magical Girls had made their way into this new world. Or if they had, they had stayed out of Mitakihara. Naturally, the Magical Girl system still existed. Even with the Incubators working to take all of the grief, humanity still produced far too much of the stuff for even the Incubator’s impressive capabilities. So that leftover was channeled into the creation of more Wraiths, much akin to the ones they had faced in that desolate world without Madoka’s light. Only these were much, much weaker. The destruction wreaked by Wraiths had been overwhelming, and Homura could not have them disturb her masterwork.

Mitakihara City itself was defended by three Magical Girls; Tomoe Mami, Sakura Kyoko, and Miki Sayaka. The three had been allowed to keep their powers, as having them hunt wraiths had seemed yet another pleasant distraction to keep them from finding the truth of this world. And so far, it had succeeded. Not one of them had seemed to have an inkling that not everything was exactly as it seemed to be. And that was good. As long as they weren’t searching for the truth, they could not find it.

And in the daytime, they went to school, exactly like normal teenage girls. And Miki Sayaka could hang out with her best friend, Kaname Madoka. And she could ignore the mysterious loner, Akemi Homura, who, apart from being in her Homeroom and English classes, was nobody worth noting. Homura was almost jealous of the girl’s newfound ignorance. If only life could ever be that simple.

Speaking of which… As Homura crested a hill, her eyes immediately locked onto the locks of pink hair pulled into two adorable pigtails by a pair of brilliantly red ribbons that carried a thousand memories. Memories of a simpler time, where there was no Goddess and no Devil, a time where the worst things in the world had been the witches and the Incubator’s machinations. A time before everything had gone wrong, and Homura had lost the girl she loved forever.

Madoka appeared to be in a spot of bother. Two other heads circled hers, one adorned with blue hair cut short and the other with an excessively long scarlet ponytail flapping in the wind behind it. Miki Sayaka and Sakura Kyoko appeared to be horsing around, as usual, and poor Madoka had happened to get literally caught in the middle of it.

As she watched with faint amusement and not so faint adoration, Homura tried to blank out the rest of reality. In the corner of her eyes, she could see the trees that lined the walkway, normally evergreen, shriveling and dying, leaves flying off in colours that varied between the typical green, to the shades of orange that usually indicated a tree that had lost its leaves in Autumn, to even the pale pink of cherry blossoms in full bloom. And just as soon as the tree had died, its leaves just… reappeared, as if nothing had happened.

And that wasn’t the only peculiar thing either. The path that she walked on seemed to be varying between a dirt path, delineated only by the lack of grass growing upon it, to the normal stone bricks that led up to the school, to those same stone bricks cracked and overrun with moss, as if they had not been walked in centuries. 

No. She didn’t see any of that. It wasn’t happening. It was just the illusions of her admittedly frayed psyche. The world didn’t just glitch like that. Maybe she needed more sleep.

Homura internally scoffed at the thought. She hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in over a decade. Whenever she tried, she was buffeted with memories of a hundred different Madokas, and a hundred different times she’d died painfully while Homura was unable to do anything to save her. She hadn’t even attempted to sleep since she became the Devil. She feared what new delusions her tortured mind might send her way.

Pulling herself from her own thoughts, Homura realised that she had stopped walking. She was attracting strange looks from other students now. Taking a breath, she resumed her steady march (The march of thousands of tin feet echoed in her ears) towards the classroom. Realising that she wouldn’t beat Madoka to class through conventional means, she decided to cheat. After all, she had an image to maintain. Almost chuckling at that thought, she stepped forward, and her foot hit the floor of her first period classroom. She quickly walked to her seat, and sat down, assuming the posture of the perfect, well-mannered student she made herself out to be.

—

After multiple torturous hours, lunch had finally come around. It was bad enough that she already knew everything that was being taught, having lived through this same month enough times that she had memorized the whole thing, right down to the exact wording of the teacher’s lectures. What made it worse was Ms. Saotome’s multiple rants about yet another failed date with yet another new boyfriend. Homura had been forced to internalize many a sigh. The woman’s dating life was hopeless, but that didn’t mean she had to expound upon her struggles to the captive audience of her class.

Homura was sure that almost everyone had tuned her out. Many people were staring around or ahead, glassy-eyed, a few had surreptitiously acquired books and were reading to pass the time. Sakura Kyoko had fallen asleep at her desk, for Goddess’s sake. And yet, the teacher continued with her complaints, and seemed to drag on, and on, and on. Homura had not been paying attention either. Her supernatural senses had been locked on the pink-haired girl sitting near the back of her class. Madoka had, on numerous occasions, almost dozed off at her desk, her head sinking onto her arms for just a few moments before shooting up again, gazing around embarrassed to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, nobody except Homura had.

The girl’s unusual sleepiness was something of a concern for Homura. What had she been doing that had stopped her from sleeping? Was she caught up in something? No, that couldn’t be possible. Homura had several familiars keeping tabs on the pinkette at any given time, whenever she herself could not keep watch. If something had happened, then she would know, right?

While she was not almost falling asleep in class, she seemed to have her attention focused towards the front of the class, adorable pink eyes focused forward, face set in concentration. It was heart-wrenchingly cute. Of course, the same could be said of any aspect of Madoka. The girl was almost the embodiment of ‘cute’, as if the concept itself had been ripped from the human consciousness and given physical form. Of course, that wasn’t the concept Madoka had chosen to embody.

Homura’s feelings for Madoka could not be expressed in words. If it were to be attempted, the closest one could get would be to say that Homura could not exist without Madoka. She was the only thing that gave her life meaning. She was the sole reason that Homura had done everything she had done for the past dozen odd years. Madoka was the only thing in the universe that mattered. As long as she was happy, everything else could burn. That included Homura’s feelings. As long as Madoka was happy, Homura did not matter.

However, there was an increasingly large part of Homura that wished for Madoka’s company. Her arguments were quite convincing. Why shouldn’t Homura have Madoka? After everything she’d done for her, did she not deserve that much? It would be so easy to just… make Madoka fall for her. With the flick of her wrist, she could make it so. But she refused. She had already defiled the girl enough, rending divinity from her body and forcing her back to mortality. She did not deserve Madoka’s love anymore, and would not desecrate the girl with her magic. And besides, without that, Madoka would never love her anyway. What had she ever done to earn it?

Homura’s mind continued to spiral, running through a veritable meat grinder of disdain. As she had torn further and further into herself, mental wounds bleeding very real blood, the day had dragged past in a haze of self-hatred. Outside, the weather had deteriorated from its earlier sunny perfection into a miserable grey sky, dark clouds roiling above, pouring tears of rain unto the mortal world.

As the lesson finished up, Homura’s brooding and self-hatred was disrupted by an angelic voice. The raven-haired girl glanced up from where she was pretending to do her work, and was met with the sight of the most perfect girl in the world. Kaname Madoka stood before her, looking down slightly and rubbing her arm in bashful shame. Her precious face was flushed almost imperceptibly, and when she spoke, her voice came out with an undisguised stutter. “H-Homura-chan.”

It was glorious. To hear her own name spoken once more by the gorgeous voice. It was the best feeling in the world. Successfully keeping her joy out of her voice, Homura replied with the same courteous coldness she showed to everyone. “Yes, Kaname-san? What is it that you need?” At this, Madoka blushed even further, her face flooded with scarlet blood, proof that she was alive, that she was human. “I-I was w-wondering… I was wo-wondering if y-you could t-tut-tor me to-tonight?” Homura was moderately shocked by the question. 

Regardless of the adorably hesitant nature, it triggered a war within Homura’s mind. The two factions were as followed: The half of her mind dedicated to her mission, who demanded that she turn Madoka down for her own good, because being near to Homura had historically ended poorly for the pinkette, and if she kept Madoka away she was less likely to reawaken her memories. 

The other half of her mind, however, was more dedicated to Madoka’s happiness. That half noted almost passively that unlike the confident way in which Madoka normally spoke, she seemed more shy when she asked, which meant that it had obviously taken some courage for her to ask this. Which meant that if Homura shot her down, she would be incredibly embarrassed and put down for a while. And they couldn’t have that happening, right? So it was best to go along with the girl’s wishes, right?

In the end, it was the latter argument that prevailed, and the momentary conflict within Homura’s head came to a close. Subtly altering her voice, attempting to affect a more pleasant tone, she replied “Of course, Kaname-san. I would be happy to tutor you. When and where would you like to meet?”

Naturally, the combination of the acceptance and the new question sent the already flustered Madoka over the edge, and she began to stammer and stutter uncontrollably for a few seconds. It took all of Homura’s considerable willpower to not audibly whisper “Awww…” due to how cute the scene was. Eventually, Madoka regained enough control of her voice to force out an answer. “C-Could we m-meet at your h-h-house?” she proffered meekly. 

Homura saw nothing wrong with the request, and so decided to indulge her. “Of course, Kaname-san. Would you like me to write my address down, or would you like my phone number so that I may text you the location?” It had taken Homura some effort to work up the courage to add that last part, but it was all worth it to see the increasingly adorable reaction it got from Madoka. The poor girl’s entire face was practically glowing pink at this point, and she was all but staring at her feet. It was so precious that Homura could scream.

Madoka eventually muttered out a confirmation, and Homura added her contact details to Madoka’s phone, and vice versa. After the deed was done, Madoka came very close to tripping over her own feet as she rushed out of the classroom, effectively boiling in her own embarrassment. The raven-haired girl let out a barely-audible chuckle as the pinkette fled the room. She had perhaps overindulged herself. Having Madoka over for a tutoring session was one thing. She could excuse that as both keeping her safe and keeping her happy.

But taking Madoka’s phone number? That was just greedy. However, her frozen heart, having felt light for what felt like the first time in years, could not have cared any less.

Well, that could have gone worse.

That was but one of many thoughts flying around the warzone that was Kaname Madoka’s mind. And one of the less treacherous ones, at that. She frankly could not believe how well that had gone. She had asked Homura to tutor her. And Homura had agreed! AND THEN HOMURA HAD INVITED MADOKA TO HER HOUSE! AND GIVEN HER HER PHONE NUMBER! Madoka couldn’t believe her luck. Who would have thought that the prettiest girl in the year would ever want anything to do with tiny, plain old Kaname Madoka? And that she would go so far as to give Madoka her contact information? Preposterous.

And yet, that was exactly what had happened. As Madoka rushed through the hallowed halls of Mitakihara Middle School, her face burned as brightly as a flare at midnight. To any observers, she must have looked ridiculous, blindly running ahead, face redder than a tomato, an expression of bashful ecstasy no doubt plastered across her face. However, as she belted through the corridors and up the stairs, she scarcely saw a soul, and whenever they appeared, they were engaged in a conversation with another, or otherwise distracted. It was as if some benevolent deity was going out of their way to protect her dignity. How nice of them.

However, not even the most powerful god could have protected Madoka’s dignity from the veritable hailstorm of teasing that was sure to come her way the moment she joined her friends on the rooftop, face still flushed with embarrassment. And yet, she still was excited to tell them the news. Sometimes, she questioned the functionality of her own brain. 

When she eventually made her way to the rooftop, she was met with the sight of Sakura Kyoko trying with all her might and finesse to plunder from Miki Sayaka’s lunchbox. The redhead, having evidently already scarfed her own lunch, was now trying to deprive her roommate of hers. To the side of the bickering pair, Shizuki Hitomi sat delicately, daintily eating her own lunch with a practiced elegance that denoted her social status. Hitomi was, however, sitting notably far away from the other two, perhaps trying to avoid the mayhem that always occurred between the two girls.

When Madoka finally made it all the way up the stairs, and emerged onto the rooftop, Sayaka looked up, accidentally allowing Kyoko to slip under her guard and nab an apple, and saw Madoka’s face flushed redder than said apple. Kyoko, triumphantly munching on her prize, glanced up as well, an evil grin quickly slipping across her face. Great. Madoka internally cringed, awaiting the maelstrom of teasing that was about to be flung her way.

And, true to form, once Kyoko had swallowed her mouthful of apple, the first shot of the first volley was fired. “Well well. Look who finally decided to show ‘er face. And quite the red one it is too, I might add. So, what did Akemi do to ya to make ya so flustered, eh?” It was a good thing Madoka’s face was already scarlet, because it made it much harder to discern her rise in embarrassment. 

Unfortunately, Sayaka had known her for almost their entire lives, and knew all of Madoka’s tells like the back of her hand. Looking mildly concerned, she asked “Madoka, did she do anything bad to you? Damnit, I knew she would. She just rubs me the wrong way.” Crap. Sayaka had gotten the wrong idea. Madoka didn’t quite know why the bluenette didn’t like Homura, and was pretty sure that girl didn’t know herself. Whenever asked, she would just make up some vague excuse about Homura ‘just being creepy’, which Madoka didn’t get at all. Homura was wonderful, there was nothing ‘creepy’ about her. She was so pre-

Madoka abruptly halted her rapidly accelerating train of thought before it could blow past her mental defenses. This was no time to be crushing on Homura. She had to correct Sayaka’s misunderstanding. Buuuut, that did mean admitting to what actually happened. Therefore giving Kyoko a veritable boatload of ammunition to use on her in the future. 

Well. 

That’s bad. 

It was a situation where Madoka had to try to find the lesser of two evils. Would it be better to have Sayaka believe Homura did something bad to her, which would lead to her potentially getting in a fight with Homura later down the line, or to admit the truth, which would stop either of the girls from getting hurt, at the cost of Madoka’s own embarrassment.

Eventually, Madoka chose to tell the truth. She could stomach more teasing. She didn’t know what she would do if Sayaka seriously hurt Homura, or vice versa. “I-it’s not like that, S-Sayaka-chan. She j-j-just accepted m-my request. An-and invited me o-over. And gave me her phone number…” The last bit came out as little more than a bashful murmur, although unfortunately it was still heard by a certain redhead. The grin that spread across Kyoko’s face was much akin to the look of a hyena who had just found a particularly tasty zebra.

“Oh ho ho. And that’s what’s got ya all riled up, Pinky? Well, I don’t think anythin’ even I can say’s gonna top that. You got a crush on Akemi. It’s plain fer alllll to see.” Sayaka looked rather miffed at the idea, turning a sharp glare on Kyoko. “Quit it, Kyoko. Obviously she doesn’t have a crush on Akemi-san. Who would? And anyway, who are you to point out crushes?” Kyoko, looking not repentant in the slightest, just turned her predatory grin on Sayaka, before replying “Hey, watch the hippo-hypo- eh whatever the hell that word is. You spent a decade pining for bloody violin boy! I got like, ten times the amount a’ love experience as you.”

Meanwhile, about a foot away, a certain green-haired girl looked like she was about to explode. Hitomi’s face was almost as red as Madoka’s, and steam was all but pouring from her ears. “D-don’t talk about s-stuff like that, Sakura-san! You know it’s forbidden! Girls can’t love girls! Girls can’t love girls!-” As Hitomi began to pull into her usual spiel that came out whenever Kyoko made jokes or references to homosexuality, which was quite a lot, Kyoko scoffed, and just asked “Hey Shizuki, how’s Narnia treatin’ ya?”

When everyone, including Hitomi, looked at her confusedly, Kyoko just stared back with equal confusion. “Surely y’all have read, watched, or at least heard o’ Narnia right? Right?” Sayaka was quick to respond, snapping back “Of course we’ve heard of Narnia, Kyoko. You’re the one of us who’s the closest to being illiterate. We just don’t quite get the joke.” Kyoko facepalmed, sighing something about how her humour was wasted, and explained “Well ya see how Shizuki gets whenever I talk ‘bout bein’ gay, right? Point is, she’s not angry. She’s flustered. Which means she obviously likes it, but is embarrassed about it.” 

Sayaka nodded slightly in understanding and asked “Yeah, I get that” Hitomi’s blush deepened “But what’s with the whole Narnia thing?” Kyoko looked at her with an expression of distinct disappointment. “Well I’ll be. Here I thought I was the dumb one in this group. Ya know how ya get to Narnia through the back of a closet? Well, it seems Little Miss Rich over here’s gone and buried herself pretty deep in that closet.” Letting out a slight ‘ah’ of understanding, Sayaka let out a sheepish chuckle. “Now that you explain it, it makes more sense.”

Kyoko looked around in dismay. “Come on. Please don’t tell me I was the only one here who got that?” At this, Hitomi barely piped up, her face partially buried in her hands. “I did…” Kyoko giggled, finding the rich girl’s embarrassment terribly entertaining. With that matter cleared up, Sayaka turned to Madoka, concern back on her face. “Madoka, are you sure you feel safe going over to Homura’s place by yourself?” Madoka, her blush now cleared by the ease found amongst close friends, nodded. “I’m gonna have to convince Mama and Papa of the same thing, but for some reason I just feel safe around her. Like some kind of god’s protecting me when she’s nearby.”

If Sayaka found her words in any way odd, she did not make it visible. She just nodded back and said “Well, if you’re sure. But if she ever pulls any weird shit, like she did when you first came back, you make sure to tell me, alright?” Madoka gave her best friend a smile and replied “Sure thing, Sayaka-chan. But I trust her. I don’t think she’d do anything like that. And besides, I’m the one who’s lucky here.” Sayaka just gave Madoka a knowing glance, and returned to her lunch, which was miraculously untouched, with the exception of the apple her roommate had nicked and scarfed down some minutes earlier. 

Madoka also opened her lunchbox, being greeted with the pleasant sight of her papa’s heavenly cooking. As she ate, she wondered distantly what Homura was eating. She never saw the girl at lunchtime, even if she made one of her rare forays down to the school’s cafeteria. Honestly, judging by the raven-haired girl’s slim frame, Madoka wondered if she even ate lunch. She hoped she did. Not eating was bad for you, and Madoka sincerely hoped the odd but beautiful girl was doing okay. Wait, what? Had she- had she just called Homura beautiful? Oh dear. Maybe Kyoko was right. She sincerely hoped that the blush which had inevitably crept onto her face wasn’t too visible.

—

The rest of the day passed without incident. Often during class, Madoka found her gaze straying away from the board and towards Homura. She tried to stay focused, honest! But Homura was just too radiant. Her luscious mane of raven-black hair flowing down her back like the most well-maintained waterfall ever. Her perfect body, uniform lining her slim features like a tailor-made suit. And whenever she periodically glanced to the side, Madoka got a brief glimpse at her wonderful face. Tired amethyst eyes set in a visage like a mask modeled after a goddess. In a word, glorious.

Oh no. Oh dear. Oh God. She was. She had. She had a crush. She had a crush on a girl. She had a crush on Akemi Homura. She had a crush on the most beautiful, perfect girl in the whole school. It was a pipe dream. As if someone as awesome and athletic and pretty as Homura would ever take interest in someone as small, and unremarkable, and overall plain as little old Kaname Madoka.

She needed time to process this. The rest of the school day may suffice, but she wasn’t sure. Luckily, there would probably be some time between the end of the day and whenever she would end up going over to Homura’s. Hopefully that would give her enough time to stabilise herself. Hopefully she could hide her hopelessness from Homura.

Due to the haze her mind was in, she couldn’t see the weather outside. She didn’t notice the turmoil. She didn’t notice the rain spattering against the windows. After the day had passed, she walked home. On the first leg of the journey, she could take advantage of the distraction provided by Kyoko and Sayaka messing around as usual. After a while, their paths had diverged, and the two had left, bound for their own home, 

That meant that Madoka was left all on her own. With her thoughts. Great.

Eventually, Madoka made it back to her home. As she stood outside her humble abode (although considering her mother’s relative wealth, it really wasn’t all that humble), she pulled her phone out, leaving the screen off so that she could use it as an impromptu mirror. God knows what would happen if her mother was home, and saw her blushing. While she could withstand Kyoko’s teasing, her mother was a different story. The closest she could come to describing it was as if Kyoko had known her for longer than Sayaka had, and could read her like an open book.

When she stepped inside, she was greeted by the thankful absence of her mother in the living room. She passed through the open space, before heading upstairs to her room. She deposited her stuff in its usual spot on her floor, and headed back out of her room. She had to find her Papa.

Kaname Tomohisa could usually be located in one of three places; The kitchen, cooking another masterwork of a meal for his family, Tatsuya’s room, playing with the toddler to keep him occupied, or his prized tomato garden. He had not been in the kitchen when Madoka had passed by, so she went to check Tatsuya’s room. She did not hear anything inside the room, but just in case, Madoka opened the door slowly, quietly. The expanding viewpoint revealed her younger brother asleep in his crib, nestled comfortably amongst many blankets and nearly enough plushies to rival his sister’s impressive hoard.

Closing the door just as quietly as she had opened it, Madoka made her way down the hallway, drawing towards the only place her Papa could be: His tomato garden. It really was a sight to behold. From wall to wall, the place was lined with perfectly kept tomato plants. The most fascinating part of the whole room was the fact that it somehow maintained perfect conditions whilst being an enclosed area. In the midst of the plants, surrounded by lush green leaves and plump red orbs, knelt Madoka’s Papa. She rapped her knuckles quietly but noticeably against the doorframe.

Her Papa stood up, rising to his full height. Turning to his daughter, he asked “Hey, Madoka. How was school?” Attempting to iron out her nerves, she said “School was fine, Papa. Hey, ummm… So a friend of mine has invited me over to her house for a tutoring session. Is it alright if I go?” Her Papa seemed to consider it for a few seconds before asking “Is this someone I know? And if it isn’t, is it someone you trust?”

Madoka knew how she wanted to respond, but couldn’t find the words. She couldn’t give her Papa the same explanation she had given Sayaka earlier. It would be awkward, and more likely to have her papa stop her from going to Homura’s. “It’s Homura-chan. The one who gave me ribbons when we first got back.” Tomohisa frowned in concentration for a couple of seconds before he asked “Hmm, I believe you mentioned her. It was a tad odd for her to give you such a personal gift. Are you sure you trust her?”

“Yes, I am sure. I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I’m safe whenever I’m with her.” Her papa sighed, then nodded. “Alright, Madoka. If you’re sure, then you can go. When are you going to head off?” Suddenly, she remembered that she hadn’t even gotten Homura’s address yet. She explained the situation to her Papa, then thanked him. She went back to her room, flopping onto her bed and opening her phone.

Looking down her short contacts list, she found the one Homura had added hours earlier. It was simply listed as ‘Homura’. She quickly edited the contact, changing the name to ‘Homura-chan <3’. Then, she flushed red, and briefly pondered deleting the heart. Then, she changed her mind and left it as is. After that, she opened a chat.

<Madoka>: hey, homura-chan

<Homura-chan <3>: Good evening, Kaname-san.

<Madoka>: sooooo, uuh…

<Madoka>: when do you want me to come over

<Homura-chan <3>: Would 1900 work for you?

<Madoka>: omg homura-chan do you use military time

<Homura-chan <3>: Yes, what of it?

<Madoka>: nothing i think its cool

<Homura-chan <3>: I’m glad you think so.

<Madoka>: thats like seven right?

<Homura-chan <3>: Indeed. Can you manage it?

<Madoka>: yeah i think so

<Homura-chan <3>: Wonderful. Would you like me to tell you my address, or would you like me to come and pick you up?

<Madoka>: …

<Madoka>: i’d like to walk with you

<Madoka>: oh god sorry why did i type that im so sorry if i made you feel weird homura-chan

<Homura-chan <3>: No, it’s alright, Kaname-san. I would enjoy walking with you as well. Shall I arrive at 1900 sharp, or?

<Madoka>: yeah

<Madoka>: oh wait homura-chan i haven’t given you my address

—

After that, Homura confirmed Madoka’s address, and Madoka went to tell her Papa. When she got downstairs, she found her Papa preparing yet another spectacular meal. She cleared her throat, getting his attention, before asking “Does seven work, Papa? She says she’ll come over to walk with me.” If his daughter giving their address to a girl he’d never met concerned him, he didn’t show it. “Sure, Madoka. Just try and get out before your mother gets home. For your own sake.”

Madoka grimaced, imagining what would happen if her mother found out that she’d invited a girl over. The teasing would dwarf even Kyoko’s talents. Unfortunately, it was then that the door swung open, and Kaname Junko strode through, obviously having forgone her typical post-work ‘relaxation’ at the bar. Great. She was doomed.

Madoka headed back upstairs to wait, first for dinner, and then the hours until Homura would arrive. She had so much to do. She had to pick out her outfit (she couldn’t have Homura seeing her in clothes that made her look even lamer than she normally did), she had to gather up her studying materials so that she would be ready to leave immediately when Homura got here. The less time her mother had to tease her, the better.

Eventually, she was called down for dinner, and went with a fire of joy in her heart. She had a wonderful dinner to look forward to, she had plenty of free time, and she got to spend several hours alone with Homura.

Today couldn’t be going much better.

Today could not possibly be going much worse.

Tomoe Mami sat calmly in her apartment’s main room, sipping politely at a cup of tea. It was a ritual she had practiced countless times, even after that fateful car crash, even when she felt it no longer meant anything. It was that same ritualistic nature that made the process of making and drinking tea so relaxing.

It was needed, after the shitshow of fear that today had been.

Across from her, at the other end of the small table that was the centerpiece of the room, sat the small girl who was the best thing in Mami’s life. Pure white hair cascaded down an overall quite small back, reaching down past the little girl’s waist. Two concentric rings, orange surrounding yellow, formed around deep black pupils, centered in eyes which held an expression alien to the face of such a young child. It was an expression of pure business.

“And you’re sure what you saw, Mami-senpai?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure, Nagisa-chan. It was raining blood, for God’s sake! You don’t just imagine that!”

The clattering of china filled the room as Mami’s shaking fingers set down her teacup. She felt sick. For most of the school day, water had been pouring incessantly on Mitakihara Middle School. Only, it hadn’t been water. For anyone, such as Tomoe Mami, either blessed or cursed with the truth of the world, that rain had been distinctly more scarlet than it should have been. Mami could have screamed. It was literally raining blood, and she just had to act normal and continue her schoolwork?

Preposterous. What was next, locusts? Coming back to the present, she heard Nagisa saying “This is bad. If these incidents are caused by what we think they’re caused by, then this world could be in existential danger. But before that, Mami-senpai, did you remember to do the protective rituals?” Mami nodded, remembering the safety procedures the two had come up with after much trial and error. “Yes, Nagisa-chan. I killed all the birds that were nearby, discretely of course, and blocked all the windows with ribbons. There shouldn’t be any way for unwanted eyes and ears to get in.”

“Excellent. That means we can talk candidly. These changes in weather, combined with the visible errors in reality indicate that the Devil’s mental state is collapsing, and with it, so is this world. I do not believe she knows this, or if she does then she cannot do anything about it herself.”

Then, Nagisa’s attitude changed so sharply that it could have broken skin, and she scrambled over to Mami, climbing in her lap and wrapping her arms around her. Considering that she was at least a foot shorter than Mami, she could fit very comfortably against her. “I’m scared, Mami-senpai.” she whimpered, and the blonde’s heart just about shattered.

Poor Nagisa hadn’t exactly had the best lot in life. Her father had left when she was still young, and she had grown up with her mother hating her for it. When Kyubey had come and offered her a wish, she had asked her mother if she could save her with it, and her mother had been very cruel in response. Nagisa used her wish out of spite to get her mother’s favourite cheesecake, and revelled in the fact that she hadn’t saved her mother. Hours later, the guilt got to her, and she’d turned into the very witch that had slain Mami in so many timelines.

When she’d been offered the chance to return to Earth by the Law of Cycles, she’d jumped at it. When the Devil remade the world to protect her love, Nagisa had not forgotten like she was supposed to. But instead of doing what she probably should have done, and taking the fight to the Devil, she had decided to savor the opportunity she’d been presented with. She had emulated the Devil. She had seized the new world with both her hands. And she had held on for dear life.

And in doing so, she had accidentally reawakened Mami’s memories. When she realised what she had done, the poor girl had been heartbroken. She was convinced that Mami would go and attack the Devil, and destroy this better world. And so she had begged, and pleaded, and cried, and screamed, and done everything in her power to stop her. 

Mami, who for her part somewhat appreciated what Homura had done, had been… easy to convince. The sight of the desperate child falling apart in front of her had taken her heart and torn it to pieces. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t see this poor girl in ruins in front of her, and mess up the only thing in her life that had gone well. So she didn’t. She’d settled down. She’d hidden her realisation from the eyes of the Devil. She had borne the wait of the secret on her shoulders, and she’d cared for the latest unfortunate girl who’d found her way into her care.

And then, a couple of weeks ago, Nagisa had come home in a panic. She had said that the world was breaking. And when Mami had gone outside, she had been met with two things. The first was the veritable legion of stuffed birds sitting in all the nearby trees, beady eyes all turned on the two girls on the balcony. The other was the fact that many of the buildings had simply vanished, leaving conspicuously empty plots of land, as if they had never existed in the first place. The missing buildings seemed to vary, disappearing and reappearing at random. No wonder Nagisa had been so worried. This was bad.

Over the time since, they had come to the hypothesis that the condition of the world was related to the mental state of the one who made it. The Devil’s fractured mind had spawned this gilded cage, and now that same mind was tearing it down. This was bad.

Mami had resolved to mobilize, to make contact with the only ones she knew she could trust to help her. She needed the Quintet. But the issue there came with the fact that she had not officially met any of them in this timeline. So she had to find a way to “accidentally” bump into one of them, preferably Kyoko, and meet them all. And from there, she could reach out to the Devil. No, she could reach out to Homura.

Ulterior motives or not, she genuinely cared for the raven-haired girl. She wanted the girl who had once been one of her treasured students, in a timeline long since buried under a heap of hurt, death, and the immutable passage of time, to be happy. After all she’d done, it was the least she deserved. But unfortunately, Homura was stubborn.

And that meant that she would not let go of her feelings. She would not let go of her belief that she had betrayed Madoka. That she had done terrible things. And that would make it all the harder to keep the poor girl’s mind intact. There were a few ideas that could work, but the issue was that most of them were incredibly risky.

So for the time being, Mami and Nagisa had to just bide their time, Mami had to try and get close to Homura, and they both needed to hope that the world didn’t collapse in on itself before they could do anything. Simple enough, right?

—

It was six o’clock at night, and Mami was on patrol. Blessedly, the Devil had decided to leave the Magical Girl system in place when she remade the world. This meant that not only could Mami freely explore this new Mitakihara under the guise of hunting for Wraiths, but it also gave her a way to relieve stress other than making and drinking tea for hours at a time, which was not only unhealthy, but frankly would be quite expensive.

Hunting was always a method of stress relief for Mami. Wraiths, witches, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the adrenaline, the excitement, and the pain. It felt real. It all felt real. And sometimes, it had been the only thing that did. During those three lonely years after the crash, she had thrown herself bodily into Witch hunting, not for grief seeds, but as a way to escape the mess that her life had become. And of course, it was Witch hunting that invariably had gotten her killed, in every single timeline. Whether she had been slain by Charlotte, felled by another Magical Girl in the line of duty, or even on the rare occasions she had made it to Walpurgis Night, it had always been because of Witches that she had died.

And because of Kyubey. Manipulative old Kyubey. Mami was disgusted at how easily he had manipulated her in the past. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen him in this new world. Maybe that was something the Devil had taken care of. She knew that Homura had loathed Kyubey for a long, long time.

As Mami continued to patrol the hallowed streets of Mitakihara City, she thankfully did not encounter any glitches. This was good, as it meant the Devil’s mind wasn’t actively fraying at that moment. Suddenly, Mami’s soul gem, held aloft in order to look for Wraiths, surges with a light so powerful it almost looks like daytime. Immediately afterwards, Mami transforms into her Magical Girl form, a ribbon formed into a musket clasped in her hands, and begins to search.

This was worrying. Last time she’d detected this much magic was when they had encountered that nightmare Wraith from the final failed timeline. If there was something that dangerous nearby, then she’d best be prepared for a fight. However, as she searched, she didn’t find anything. And then, she found the one thing she never wanted to encounter.

As she rounded a corner, she was met with the Devil.

Bone-framed wings with black feathers hanging off like the condemned from the gallows. Jet-black dress cut daringly, equally black hair trailing down her back like a waterfall of ink. Wine red eyes and a small, disturbing smile set in a disturbingly familiar face. And, perhaps most concerningly, a lizard’s tail clad in ebony scales trailing from the bottom of the girl’s spine.

Mami quickly ducked back behind the corner, not willing to interact with the Devil in person. She should not even be able to see the devil’s outfit, even if she was a Magical Girl. The fact that she could was owed to her unusual knowledge. And then, a voice spoke. It was cold as ice and tonally dead. “Tomoe Mami. Come out from behind that corner.”

Damn.

Time was running out, and Mami still had no idea how to handle this situation. She decides to simply play it off, and act as if she didn’t know what was going on. As if she didn’t know the truth. In a flash of golden light, Mami was standing in her typical school uniform, with not even the slightest indication that she had ever transformed. She stepped around the corner, and looked into the eyes of the Devil.

“Do we… know each other? I can’t seem to recall meeting you.” she said, standing strong and trying her best to conceal her fear. The Devil’s eyes narrowed, and then she replied “I am truly sorry. I do not believe we have met, no. My name is Akemi Homura.” Mami let out an internal sigh of relief. The Devil had bought her bluff. Taking a gamble at what she should be able to see, based on the fact that Homura’s wardrobe only seemed to consist of her school uniform, she asked “Is that a Mitakihara Middle School uniform? I go there too. That must be how you knew my name.”

The Devil briefly glances down at her outfit, then looks back at Mami. Her tail lashes behind her in agitation. “Indeed. Very well. Be on your way.” Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity, Mami nodded, and began to walk away, trying desperately to stop herself from breaking into a run. “Farewell, Akemi-san!”

She did not dare to look behind her.

As the hours drew by, Madoka’s enthusiasm waned. She had run out of ideas on what to do after about half an hour. She had chosen a sufficiently cute outfit, consisting of a pale pink sundress and a comfy grey hoodie. She had readied her textbooks, her pencils, everything. And now all she had left to do was… wait.

It was torture.

Eventually, the clock struck seven, and there was a knock at the door of the house. Madoka was shocked. She had expected Homura to be punctual, but not there-the-exact-second punctual. Rushing downstairs, she pulled the door open to see Homura standing there, looking as if she had all the time in the world.

Homura’s outfit was simple, much akin to Madoka’s own, and looked devastatingly comfortable. She was clad in a wool sweater, the soft lavender a nice compliment to her violet eyes, and a pair of black sweatpants. Unlike Madoka, she obviously hadn’t put much thought into her outfit, instead probably throwing on whatever was warm and comfortable (because it was unseasonably cold tonight). And she looked stunning. There was something about the casual way Homura was dressed that contrasted nicely with her usually prim mannerisms, and that made Madoka’s heart do backflips.

Oh dear. She was so screwed.

Not wanting to wait around and risk her mother’s teasing, she yelled a hurried goodbye and shut the door hastily behind her. Then, she turned to Homura, who asked “Shall we head off, Kaname-san?” Smiling brightly, Madoka nodded, and they set off towards Homura’s house.

They talked as they walked, Madoka providing most of the conversation. A lot of it was idle chatter, Homura reciprocating with her usual curt replies. At one point, Madoka asked Homura to call her by her first name, and for the first time that night a genuine smile spread across Homura’s face, albeit small, and her eyes filled with a certain melancholy.

Before Madoka could ask her if she was alright, they stopped at a corner. Set into that corner were a pair of double doors, and when Homura unlocked them and pushed, they swung open dramatically, revealing a large room with a large wooden table set in the centre, a small kitchen, and windows set into the far wall that let through the brilliant orange light of sunset. It looked… normal. And empty. It seemed far too big of a room for one girl to live in.

“Hey, Homura-chan, you live alone, right?” Madoka asks. “Yes, I do. Why do you ask, Madoka?” The tone of Homura’s voice was curious, with a just-barely audible hint of reverence when she said Madoka’s name. Odd. “It’s just… it seems too big for just you. Did someone else live here at some point? Your parents, maybe?” Flipping her hair back over her shoulder, Homura replied “No. I have never met my father, and my mother died giving birth. I have been an orphan my entire life.” Madoka, looking slightly chastised, bowed her head and muttered “Sorry…”

Homura glanced down at her, and, seeing her obvious shame, just said “You have nothing to be sorry for, Madoka. You were merely asking a question. I never knew either of them. As such, I have no feelings either way.” Then, abruptly she reached out and put her hand on Madoka’s shoulder. The feeling of the slender fingers on her shoulder, the warmth of Homura’s body flowing into her, awakens Madoka from her reverie. She looks up at Homura, a slight blush on her cheeks. “Homura-chan..? Why did you…” Homura quickly withdrew her hand, a slight blush incredibly visible on her ghost-pale cheeks.

“I- I apologize for my lack of control, Madoka. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Huh. Curious. Madoka had not expected someone as controlled as Homura to stutter. And as for the hand on her shoulder… Well, it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, per say, more simply unexpected. “No, it’s okay, Homura-chan.” Homura looked back at her, previously visible blush fading back into the typically flat expression the raven-haired girl normally wore. Quickly seeking to end the awkwardness by changing the subject, Madoka exclaimed “Oh, right! I came here for a tutoring session! We should probably get started, shouldn’t we?”

Homura simply nodded, before asking “So what do you need help with, Madoka?” Oh. Oh dear. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. In truth, she needed help with just about everything. In typical fashion, her stupid brain couldn’t keep up with what was going on in class (and gazing wistfully at a certain girl with a curtain of ebony-black hair did not help with that), but she didn’t want to admit it to Homura. She was worried it would make her seem even lamer than she surely already did.

Suddenly, Homura’s eyes locked with hers, and a flash of understanding seemed to pass through them. “Ah. I see. Well, what do you need the most help with?” Madoka was in shock. How had she known? How had Homura read her like an open book, and determined that she needed help with everything? Unless… Unless it was because Homura thought she would be the type to need help with everything. Yeah, that was probably it. A slight pout appeared on Madoka’s face as this occurred to her, unbeknownst to Madoka, but very much beknownst to Homura.

“What’s wrong, Madoka?” she asked, voice taking on a certain tone of caution. “Oh, it’s… uhh, it’s nothing, Homura-chan. I think I’m struggling the most with maths. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around trigonometry.” Madoka replied, trying to yet again sweep away the awkwardness. At this, Homura seemed to brighten, sitting up straighter (if that was possible, the girl always seemed to maintain effortlessly perfect posture) and said “Oh. That’s one of the topics I happen to be proficient in.”

Madoka looked down, muttering under her breath “One of many…”, as they made their way towards the table, before she sat down and began to unpack her bag. Homura sends a quick glance flying her way before sitting down too. When Homura sat down next to her, her fluffy sleeve rubbed against Madoka’s arm accidentally, sending a wave of warmth and comfort through her. Naturally, the black-haired girl didn’t seem to notice.

As she leaned over to look at the problems Madoka needed help with, her ebony hair flowed with graceful ease down her back and over her arms. And when she began to explain the question, the learned and certain tone of her voice washed over Madoka, carrying the pinkette away with it. She could listen to Homura’s tired, melodious voice for hours and never stop enjoying it. Her eyes glazed over, and she did not hear a single thing Homura was explaining.

Then, Homura tapped her on the shoulder, and she jumped, not having realised that the raven-haired girl had stopped talking. “Are you alright, Madoka? You seem distracted.” Madoka, blinking groggily after the breaking of her reverie, replied with a distinct yawn “It’s - It’s alright, Homura-chan. I’ve just kind of been struggling to sleep properly recently.” Tired purple met tired pink, and concern flowed through the air. “Hmmm. Would you perhaps like something to drink, Madoka? To help keep the sleep away, just for the time being?” At this, Madoka perked up, and asked “Depends. What’ve you got, Homura-chan?”

“I’ve got coffee, several different blends of tea, hot chocolate, and of course water. No soft drinks, I’m afraid. I do not tend to enjoy them.” Homura listed off the options, seemingly subconsciously ticking them off on her fingers. It was cute. As for the drinks, well… Madoka had never had coffee before, and quite honestly was not a massive fan of how it smelled. She had drunk tea a couple of times, and while it wasn’t the best thing she’d ever tasted, it was still pleasant and warm. In the end, though, there was only one clear option. 

Madoka loved hot chocolate. It had been a guilty pleasure of hers since the first time she’d had any. To her, drinking hot chocolate was like consuming pure comfort. The warmth of the drink as it flowed down her throat, the sweet taste blessing her tongue with every sip, the innumerable number of sweet toppings, like cream and marshmallows, that could be added on top just for the sake of adding them, and never detract from the drink itself. Hot chocolate was just her favourite. “I don’t mind that, Homura-chan. I’d like a hot chocolate please.”

Homura nodded, and set about making it. Within five minutes, two steaming mugs of sweet brown ambrosia were sitting on Homura’s immaculate counter. Then, the raven-haired girl came around the side, seamlessly picked up the two drinks, and strode gracefully over to the table, where Madoka sat cluelessly staring at her maths textbook. Setting down one of the mugs, which was conspicuously larger than the other, in front of Madoka, Homura returned to her chosen seat. The smell of the hot chocolate alone had been making Madoka almost drool in anticipation, and now that it was in front of her, she did not hesitate to take a long-awaited sip.

Surprisingly, it did not burn her tongue. Even though it had only been made a minute ago, it was at the perfect temperature. Madoka was in awe. How had Homura timed it so perfectly that her first sip would come when it was at perfect drinking temperature? And then, all other thoughts were washed away as the hot chocolate washed through Madoka’s mouth. It was like drinking a hug. It was perfectly warm, amazingly comfortable, and delightfully sweet, but not to the point of being saccharine. It reminded Madoka of cold days spent snuggled in blankets, of relaxing baths in luxurious hot water, and of hundreds of embraces of love and care… some of which… some of which she couldn’t… couldn’t quite remember. How odd. That aside, it was without a doubt the best thing Madoka had ever had the pleasure of drinking. And that was only the first sip.

Smiling peacefully, Madoka visibly relaxed in her chair, and continued sipping at her chocolatey ambrosia. As she did, Homura queried “So why do you believe it is that you have not been sleeping properly as of late, Madoka?” If Madoka didn’t know better, she would have said there was a definite note of worry in that delightful voice. The hot drink had been working wonders on Madoka’s tension, so she was quick to respond “It’s mainly my dreams. They’ve been pretty normal since forever, but once I came back to Japan, they’ve been slowly getting…” Madoka trailed off, not knowing how to properly describe the nightmares that had been plaguing her for the past weeks. “Getting..?” Homura asked, seemingly hanging off the edge of her seat waiting for Madoka to continue. “Getting… Darker. Scarier. Sadder. I can’t ever remember the whole thing, only flashes.”

Unexpectedly, Homura’s face momentarily twisted into a grimace of pain, before reverting to its previous curious demeanour. Peculiar. It had been so brief, maybe she’d imagined it. Seemingly driven by morbid curiosity, Homura continued to press Madoka for details, asking “And what do you see in these flashes?” At this, Madoka stammered, blushing slightly under Homura’s startlingly intense gaze. “It- it tends to v-vary. Sometimes it’s just flashes of colour, other times it’s… okay that’s too hard to explain. If only I had my sketchbook. Then I could show you… Wait, I think I did bring it!” Madoka broke off her explanation abruptly, rummaging in her bag. Eventually, her hand tightened around an object, and she pulled it free from the bag with a triumphant cheer. In her hand, she clutched an old blank-page notebook, with her name scrawled on the cover, its frequent use clear from the wear and tear around the edges of the book.

Opening the book, Madoka flipped through to the recent drawings she had made, and one page in particular. She had certain pages bookmarked with little tags, and the titles were very generic. Peering at the collection of bookmark tags peaking over the pages, she thumbed through until she found the one marked ‘Dream Monsters’. Turning to that page revealed multiple drawings that Madoka was surprised could even be a product of her own imagination. When Homura peered over her shoulder, the raven-haired girl was quick to disguise her look of abject shock. Not quick enough, however.

Scattered across the page in varying stages of completion, were several bizarre creatures with characteristics that wouldn’t look out of place in an absurdist art piece. Some of these included what appeared to be a giant schoolgirl with arms for all limbs, of which she had six, a pile of pale pink flowers with butterfly wings and a head made of moss dotted with roses, and what appeared to be an exceptionally ornate archway. There were also six drawings which stood out particularly, because they were the ones that had the most focus in Madoka’s dreams.

The first was a doll that appeared to be made of curled ribbons, of colours varying from yellow to pink to green. A pink tag hung around its neck. The second was a large humanoid draped in scarlet ceremonial garb, riding upon a horse of monochromatic checkerboard. In the place of a head, the figure instead had a candle flame, burning brightly even in the pencilled static of Madoka’s notebook. In its hand was clasped a massive, and rather fancy, spear. The third was another doll, this one small and made of fabric. Its white face was adorned with a stitched-on yellow blush, large flat blue eyes, and a small embroidered pout. Its head was swaddled in a black cloth spattered with red polka dots, apart from where its pink hair poked through in the shape of a candy wrapper. The doll was dressed in a suit jacket and waistcoat that were far too big for it, and it sat on ground that resembled the top of a cake.

Beside the doll was a titanic black worm, its form similarly dotted with red spots. Its face was a pale white clown mask, eyes swirling in a rainbow and ultramarine tongue hanging out animalistically. Her art was one of very few things Madoka took pride in, as even she could recognize how talented she was at it. However, the level of detail in the next three drawings was particularly astounding, and blew the rest of her art out of the water.

The next two drawings each took up half a page.  On the bottom of the page was what appeared to be a mermaid, with a large tail coated in multicoloured scales, ending in a heart-shaped fin with a concentric pattern of hearts filling it out. The unusual thing was that the mermaid’s upper body appeared to be clad in armour. Its midriff was wrapped in a navy blue corset, patterned with small golden diamonds. Its entire upper body was entombed within solid metal, a suit of armour evidently worn around its arms, shoulders, and whatever of its torso was not corset. The metal of the armour was slightly green-tinged, as if viewed through seawater, and rusted around the edges. The breastplate was adorned with a brilliant pink bow, and around the mermaid’s neck was hung a deep blue cape, flowing behind her in invisible wind. The helmet of the armour was an odd one, with three eye holes vaguely reminiscent of trumpets, all backed by a massive heart-shaped collar in checkered shades of blue. In the grip of the mermaid was clasped a gleaming steel saber, untarnished by whatever eroded the armour, and musical notes surrounded its entire figure.

The other creature, positioned powerfully at the top of the page, dark grey storm clouds providing its backdrop, appeared to be some sort of delicate doll, pale porcelain skin mostly covered with an ornate, elegant, and very frilly blue dress. The doll ended at the waist, with a metal rod connecting it to a colossal conglomeration of gears that replaced its upper body. The upper half of the doll’s head was not present, instead giving way to an empty basin. Haloes of rainbow surrounded the figure, making it appear almost angelic. Most curiously, it appeared to have been drawn upside down.

The entire next page was beholden to one singular drawing.

A skeletal figure, standing tall in a mourning dress composed of monochromatic fabric. Arms stripped of flesh held out in front, locked in primitive wooden cuffs that would have surrounded the wrists, had there been any skin to be found. Ribs jutting out from under the dress, pale bone exposed to cold air. Unkempt, filthy dark hair running in defiant waterfalls down the back and shoulders of the creature. Two shadowy arms lashing out in desperation, clawing at the ground behind as the march continued. What appeared to be teeth orbiting the figure like Jupiter’s moons, many in number. And… The figure’s head was not present past its lower jaw. In its place, like a fountain of crimson viscera, was a mass of red flowers, spider lilies sprouting from the death of the monster. Tiny tin soldiers marched in orderly lines, escorting the figure to God knows where. Now that Madoka looked more closely, the figure looked familiar, somehow. It almost reminded her of…

Homura appeared to contemplate the drawings for a few minutes, an incomprehensible expression clear on her gorgeous face. If Madoka were to try and describe it, it looked like a mix of shock, understanding, dread, and a tiny sliver of admiration. After what seemed like an eternity, Homura finally spoke, her voice filling the air with a definite uncertainty. “Those are… some interesting drawings, Madoka. They are quite good. You said that you remember seeing these in your dreams?” Hasty to keep hearing Homura’s voice, Madoka replied “Y-yeah. They appear sometimes, and some of them more often than others. Like, this one and this one-” she pointed to the mermaid and the inverted doll “appear the most often, and it’s usually just flashes. But this one-” she motioned to the largest of the drawings “I’ve only seen a couple of times, but it’s super clear whenever it appears. Do you know why they’ve been showing up, Homura-chan?”

The question appeared to set Homura on edge, her fists clenching and jaw tensing up ever so slightly. Answering with a small smile and a stilted tone, she said “I am not sure. Perhaps it’s the additional stress of coming back to Japan after so many years abroad? Considering what you may have missed, I am sure that school is an additional source of unneeded stress, no?” Huh. It made sense. But why did she sound like she was struggling to say it? “Are you alright, Homura-chan?” Taking a deep breath, Homura replied “Yes, Madoka. I am alright. I believe these nightmares should fade as you get more adapted and comfortable being back in Japan. Regardless of how good of a muse they have turned out to be. These drawings are truly exquisite. The colour palettes are quite striking.”

Blushing under the stream of compliments, Madoka went to take another sip of her hot chocolate, only to find her mug empty. Darn. Noticing her disappointment, Homura slid her own, mostly untouched mug over to Madoka, saying “Here, you can drink the rest of mine. I most likely wouldn’t have finished it before it would have gone cold, so you drinking it ensures it will not go to waste.” The pinkette took the drink with glee, eager to indulge in the luxurious taste of the hot chocolate again, although she paused after taking a sip, and asked “Wait, Homura-chan. Why wouldn’t you have finished it?”

A certain look of regret crossed Homura’s face, and she replied, not exactly sadly, but with a definite air of woe “I… Unfortunately, my sense of taste eludes me as of late. I have found myself unable to truly enjoy anything I eat, as it mostly just tastes flat and bland. And thus, no longer able to derive enjoyment from the act, I find myself refraining from eating quite often.” Madoka’s face, previously slack with relaxed enjoyment, tightened and shifted into a small frown, lips pouting adorably. “But that’s no good, Homura-chan. You have to eat. Eating’s good for you. It gives you nutrients and stuff.” Slowly, it seemed that Homura’s normal cold demeanour had been unravelling, as now her head, usually held straight and high, slumped down, resting on the table as she stared up at Madoka. This unusually sloven side of the raven-haired girl came as a surprise, and the pinkette couldn’t help subconsciously noting how cute Homura looked relaxing like that.

“I know that, Madoka, I just…” Homura’s words seemed to fail her, unable to properly voice what was bothering her. Eventually, her voice returned, albeit weaker than before, and she sighed “I just can’t bring myself to try and eat anything. It doesn’t seem worth it if I can’t taste it. The motivation escapes me, much like the satisfaction does.” In a bold mirror of Homura’s action from earlier, Madoka placed her hand softly on the black-haired girl’s shoulder, saying sweetly “How about this, Homura-chan. I’ll make you lunch next time I can, and I’ll bring it to school with me. You have to come eat with me, Kyoko-chan, Hitomi-chan, and Sayaka-chan. That way, we can all make sure that you eat.”

Homura considered the proposal for a few seconds, before answering “As nice as it sounds, there may be a few issues. First of all, I may not even be able to taste the food you make me, which means being pressured to eat will not be pleasant for me. And secondly, I do not believe Miki Sayaka likes me, so she will likely object to thi-” Before Homura could finish, Madoka seized her hands, staring imploringly into those exhausted amethyst eyes. “I don’t care if Sayaka-chan likes it. You need to eat, Homura-chan. And I think you might enjoy the company, even if you don’t enjoy the food. Please, Homura-chan. Give it a try. Please.”

The combination of Madoka’s determination, her reasonable tone, and her pleading look appeared to break through Homura’s reluctance, and she nodded, before sighing “Very well. We shall give this a try. I am… not hopeful, but we shall see. I believe we have deviated from our studies for long enough. Shall we get back to it, Madoka?” Nodding her assent, Madoka answered “Okay. I promise you won’t regret this, Homura-chan!”

—

After about twenty more minutes, the sun went down, and Homura put on a nearby lamp. The warm orange light illuminating the room gave it a proper feeling of comfort. As the hours passed, the two girls studied relentlessly. As it turns out, Homura was an exceptional tutor. She knew the subject like the back of her hand, and was very good at explaining concepts. And, she never became impatient or angry when Madoka needed her to repeat something. If she wanted to, Madoka imagined Homura could make a very good teacher. If she could explain trigonometry to even someone as stupid as Madoka, then surely she must be really good at it, right?

Eventually, Madoka let off a massive yawn. These last couple of hours had really drained her energy, and she was all but falling asleep at the table. Noticing this, Homura, who miraculously appeared to still be fully conscious and not even a little sleepy, cut off their study session, reasoning that “Not only do you need to get home, but you also won’t exactly be able to learn any more if you’re practically falling asleep every time you blink. We’ve covered quite a lot today. I’m proud of you.” For whatever reason, Homura’s affirmation sent another pleasant flood of warmth through Madoka’s body.

However, she had an idea. Stifling a yawn, she pronounced “N-no, Homura-chan. I want to stay over tonight, if that’s alright with you?” The raven-haired girl appeared conflicted, clearly wondering whether it was a better idea to let Madoka stay over, where she could sleep sooner, or make the twenty minute walk back to Madoka’s house, wasting time that could otherwise be spent sleeping. Finally, Homura shook her head, then nodded, uttering “Sure, why not. Make sure to ask your parents if it’s alright, though. I would not want them worrying.”

Overjoyed about Homura’s confirmation, Madoka hurriedly and clumsily withdrew her phone, flipping to her contacts and sending a message to her Papa.

<Madoka>: papa, is it alright if i stay at homura’s tonight?

<Papa>: Okay, Madoka. Just make sure to tell me when you’ll be back tomorrow.

<Papa>: Goodnight, sweetie. Sleep well.

<Madoka>: good night papa. see you tomorrow.

Turning her phone off, Madoka turned to Homura, calling “Homura-chan! Papa says I can stay over!” Hearing the news, a small smile crept across Homura’s face, just the corners of her mouth tweaking up, as if her body as a whole was unwilling to show that she was happy. Which, considering how hesitant Homura had been to accept Madoka’s request, was odd. “Very well, Madoka. Would you like to shower first, or would you like to pick out pajamas whilst I shower?”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to pick pajamas first.” Homura just nodded. She did that a lot. Maybe she just thought it was easier than replying. Then, Homura motioned for Madoka to follow her upstairs, and she did. As they moved along what was clearly the main hallway of the house, the sheer number of rooms left Madoka in awe. What could one girl possibly need all this space for? Then, they stopped at one particular door, and Homura opened it casually. As it opened, it revealed a walk-in closet that was… nearly empty. The only visible thing was Homura’s uniform sweater hanging on one of the rails. 

In the middle of the room was a chest of drawers, which Homura walked over to and opened the second drawer down. Inside was an array of pajamas, most in shades of purple or deep grey, with the only standout ones being a short-sleeved baby blue ensemble, and a set coloured a nice, soft yellow. Madoka reached into the drawer and withdrew the yellow ones. Homura, who had not gone to go get in the shower, did not comment on her choice, instead volunteering to go set up the futon in her room while Madoka showered. The pinkette accepted, and hurried off to go wash herself.

As the hot water of the shower cascaded upon Madoka’s back, she thought over her evening. It had been a relaxing one, with as much hot chocolate as she wanted, Homura’s cozy presence and cozy sweater always nearby, even making something as tedious as learning trigonometry into an exceptionally comfortable experience. She’d also managed to convince Homura not only to join her for lunch, but also to let her stay over! Madoka couldn’t believe her luck.

However, there were some things that worried her. The first was Homura’s reaction when she learned about Madoka’s nightmares. She’d seemed… worried. Not just ‘my friend isn’t sleeping’ worried, but ‘there is something deeply wrong’ worried. She hoped Homura had gotten over it. They were just dreams, after all. The other thing that worried her, naturally, was that Homura didn’t seem to be taking care of herself. She had already admitted to scarcely eating, which was probably why she seemed to be so thin all the time, but Madoka also had the suspicion that the girl rarely ever slept, and that when she did it wasn’t for long. The perpetually deep eye bags that marred the girl’s otherwise perfect visage spoke volumes in that department.

There had to be something Madoka could do. She was already dedicating herself to making sure Homura ate properly, what with her grand lunch scheme, but how to get her to sleep… Oh well. It was a problem she could think over later. Stepping out of the shower, body cleansed of the day’s dirt and problems, Madoka picked up the pajamas she had selected. They really were indulgently fluffy. When she put them on, they caressed her soft, clean skin like the most awesome blanket in the world. Heading towards where she assumed Homura’s room was (it was the only one with an open door), she was met with the sight of Homura sitting on the futon, already with the spare bedding she had gotten out pulled over her legs.

“Homura-chan? Why are you on the floor?” Homura smiled softly up at her, before responding “Because the bed is more comfortable. Ergo, you deserve it. Before you say anything, I will accept no argument.” Madoka, who had been about to do just that, slammed her jaw shut, and pouted at Homura. “Okay, Homura-chan. You win.” The pinkette clambered into the bed, pulling the covers over herself, and was forced to agree with the raven-haired girl’s assessment. God, this was comfortable. As the warmth shrouded her, her weariness rose up and swallowed her whole. The last thing she saw before her consciousness left her was Homura looking back at her, whispering “Good night, Madoka. Sleep well.”

The sound of soft snoring filled the cool night air. If one were to look outside, they would find a perfectly peaceful, cloudless night, moon shining agreeably down on the city. However, the one person in the room who was awake did not look outside, for she was too distracted by the vision of perfection that lay sleeping in the bed. Sitting wide awake on the futon, the Devil watched the pink-haired girl with a look of adoration etched upon her face.

Pale pink hair flopped unkemptly across a delightfully soft pillow. A small, innocent face lay asleep, relaxed and unbothered by the stresses of waking life. She looked so, so peaceful. The sight filled Homura’s heart with a simple joy that was hard to express. It reminded her why she had done what she had done. She had damned herself and given up her salvation for this. She had done it so that Madoka could be happy and be at peace, and have a normal life. And in moments like this, she would never regret it.

Suddenly, Madoka’s face twisted into a grimace, and her quiet sleep gave way to fitful writhing and twitching. Oh shit. She was clearly having another nightmare. Her memories were peeking through. Homura cursed her own ineptitude. How could Madoka, the one person who must not remember under any circumstances, be remembering things in her dreams? Damnit. Homura’s heart had nearly stopped when she’d seen the drawings of the witches in Madoka’s sketchbook.

Without much warning, Madoka’s tossing and turning brought her over the edge of the bed, and Homura was quick to catch her. The impact had obviously jarred the pinkette’s brain, stirring her from her sleep, and her eyes opened groggily. There were tears gathering at the edges. Looking down at Madoka, Homura forced a calm smile back onto her face, unwilling to show her panic. “Homura-chan?” Madoka breathed, a quiet whimper in her voice.

Pulling the pink-haired girl into a tight hug, Homura whispered “It’s alright, Madoka. You’re alright. I’m here. You’re safe.” Madoka’s arms wrapped slowly around her, and she buried her head into Homura’s chest. She passed off the oddness of the embrace, reasoning that even though Madoka didn’t know her that well in this world, she needed something to cuddle, and Homura was an apt substitute for one of the girl’s many, many plushies. And besides, it was too comfortable to stop her. Instead, Homura just bathed in the familiar embrace, long as it had been since Madoka held her last.

Once Madoka had fallen back asleep, pitiful whimpers once more given way to quiet snoring, Homura lay her softly back on the bed, tucking her back under the covers once more. Laying her hand on Madoka’s forehead, stray pink strands brushing against it, Homura exerted her magic to peer into Madoka’s memories. She had to see what the girl had dreamed. As she delved through the pink-haired girl’s mind, she was greeted with warm memories of the evening prior, and couldn’t help but smile to herself. Loathe as she was to admit it, she had greatly enjoyed the study session. Evidently, Madoka had too. Eventually, she found what she was looking for, and dove headfirst into Madoka’s dream.

Rain pours unabated upon the ruins of Mitakihara City. A great calamity had swept through, bringing only a storm, and leaving only desolation in its wake. Until, by the power of one single girl, the disaster was halted, and annihilated. Two girls lay in the waterlogged wreckage, black hair bound into twin braids contrasting sharply with pink hair held in pigtails by red ribbons. They lay spread-eagled, and at the end of their interlinked arms were near-identical gems, surrounded by gold and flooded with shadow.

“Have you got any grief seeds left, Kaname-san? I’ve used all of mine.” A shake of a pink-haired head. “Ah. I see.” Both girls look to the sky, to the swirling stormclouds and the golden light pouring in through the gaps. The pinkette declares “Let’s become Witches together, Homura-chan. Let’s rampage over this world until there’s nothing left but dust!”

While the black-haired girl stares at the sky, the pinkette presses a small, black object against the gem in her counterpart’s palm. Responding to the shocked look she received, the girl explains “I lied. I had one left. I need you to do something for me, Homura-chan.” Tears now pooling in her violet eyes, the black-haired girl nodded. “I need you to go back in time, and stop stupid old me from being tricked by Kyubey.” The tears are now flowing in rivers past red glasses. “O-Okay, Madoka.” The pink-haired girl smiles, although her eyes are filled with pain.

Then, she writhes in anguish, her breath coming in short grasps. “One more thing, Homura-chan. I don’t want to become a witch. This world is full of so many horrible things, true, but there’s also so much that is worth saving.”

The black haired girl nods, her body shaking with the ghost of a sob. Then, in a flash of light, her school uniform is replaced with a grey-purple ensemble. She draws a pistol from the metal disk on her left wrist, and points it at the near-black gem in the pinkette’s upraised palm.

She doesn’t hear the gunshot, nor the miserable wail that accompanies it.

Homura jolts back to consciousness, sweat running in rivulets down her brow, and tears beginning to form in her eyes. Shit. Why’d it have to be that memory? Why did it have to be the recollection of the worst moment of her life? She pushed her magic through her palm again, this time seeking to destroy Madoka’s memory of the dream. She mustn’t remember. That pain was Homura’s to carry, and hers alone. It would not be allowed to bother Madoka.

As she felt the memory fade and vanish, the Devil let out a sigh of relief. Then, whispering as not to wake her, she vowed “Do not worry, Madoka. They won’t be able to hurt you anymore. I won’t let them.”

In all her worry, she had not noticed the glimpse of gold where pink should normally be.