Candeloro;

She had been so alone.

Candeloro knew it like she knew those girls were in her home, coming for her. Candeloro knew if she hurt any visitors, they would not stay with her, would not love her, and thus she knew she could not harm them, no matter what they did to her. She would take care of them, and in time, they would love her.

She had her dress-up games, her tea party; they would all have fun together.

Beside her, her Familiars whispered words of encouragement, and Candeloro opened her arms, beckoning them to her. When they did not come, she bound them with ribbons she'd never forgotten how to use, and dragged them to her, holding them to her.

Like these Familiars, the girls would be her new friends.

She would never be alone again.

When they came (to destroy her, she knew, because she could not be a good magical girl and she could not be a good Witch and it was better she was destroyed and somebody take her place), she tried to entreat them, to bewitch them and show them that it was more fun if they just stayed with her and were her party guests forever.

They called her by a name she recognized only tangentially, and it stung like a re-opened wound.

She attacked when they gave her no choice.

She cried when they gave her no choice.

Oktavia;

Playing, playing; Oktavia threw her head back in rapture and continued to guide her symphony through the motions of playing. The music must go on; she had to continue to hear it. It kept her alive, it kept her feeling things other than anger and hatred.

Maybe if she played long enough, he might turn, pull the shade back, and notice her. She was powerful, magical, and nothing she could do would make him turn or pull the shade back herself. She was useless, she always had been, and now all she had left was this music that wasn't even his.

She didn't stop her wheels from mowing down the Klarissas; they could dance and they could die, but nothing would stop her from playing.

Not even the girls who tried to destroy her, not the cries of a girl her other self recognized and resented with a strength borne from deep love.

She would protect him, nothing would stop him from playing the violin he held as long as she was around! She struck, first movement, second movement, intermission. Mezzo, intermezzo, again and again, until they tired of each other and it became a symphony impossible to hear, so lost it was in chaos.

When the explosion came, inside herself she felt that other girl reaching out, hoping for a last kindness to reach her, but Oktavia knew better than to hope.

Ophelia;

Ophelia rode; she had no need for anything else.

Her Familiars marched around her, and her horse rode on, barely an entity in her comprehension. She felt like she had rode for so long, with no enemy. But what was the point in fighting anymore? In her life before, she had fought and struggled so much and gotten so little - no honor, no pride, no bonds. Conquering this land, her land, for conquering's sake had given her nothing.

So she rode.

And within, she felt nothing, especially no need to protect anyone except herself. Her Familiars were inconsequential, and did not need her, or she them. Her horse was loyal, but a means to an end. She had nobody but herself.

Within her, her other self crumbled, and for the first time, she acknowledged her. She told her to be happy, that she had what she wanted - independence and freedom from anyone needing her, from the responsibility of helping anyone.

This other self was silent, as she always was, and Ophelia felt that this was good. Nobody could disappoint her. She was ruined now, and she could march alone, in peace, lord of all the foggy land she surveyed.

As Ophelia rode, she ignored the pained weeping that seemed to echo within her own mind.

Homulilly;

She lived in a world of sand, a queen of shifting worlds and of failure.

It seemed as obvious to Homulilly as it was that her barrier was made of sand and clocks, that her Familiars were all pink and roses grew where they walked. She was a failure, even if she could not remember what she had failed at.

She wore this knowledge on her breast, her braids resting on top of it, and she waited.

She waited for someone she knew not, as the world outside of her barrier fell apart. She did not care. She would wait patiently for whatever she was waiting for, and she knew it would arrive.

She trusted this mystery more than she trusted herself.

The last time she left her barrier, what was left of her heart sloshing in her ephemeral chest, Homulilly looked up to see there was hardly anything left of the sky, of the earth, of the air her old self used to breathe.

She looked up, and she saw a massive form approaching her - an even larger Witch - with wide, long pink ribbons flowing down her frame, reaching forward to embrace Homulilly, or absorb her.

Homulilly did not know. She did not care. She reached out and let herself be touched by this new Witch, knowing her salvation had finally come, even if she didn't recognize the name her other self called it by ("Madoka!")

Kriemhild Gretchen;

The Witch of salvation had the purest heart of any Witch that ever was.

Not that she thought of this herself; she thought only of saving this miserable, broken world. She was almost done; soon there would be nothing left of the old world. It would be a paradise where nobody suffered or was in pain, and the memories of her old friends could not torment her, because they would never be sad again.

There was one Gretchen could not find though, and she remembered sensory images of her more than she remembered her name. Long braids, black hair, flashes of purple; she was more unique than anything Gretchen had found on this earth so far, having gone far and wide on it to purge it of all suffering. The task of mercy was never done.

And it would not be done until she found this girl again.

She took her time, gently cleansing the world. There was so much sadness and pain and anger here, she sometimes despaired that her work would never be finished, but methodically she worked, and she achieved.

In time, there was not much left, and she allowed herself a moment's rest. She wandered, and searched for the girl she thought of so often.

Soon it came to her attention that there was a large spot of Sadness and Pain left, and she could not let it keep existing. She went to it, and when she arrived was surprised:

It was that girl. She had braids, and flashes of purple announced her magic. She looked different, and yet Gretchen would not forget her anywhere, even if she were a Witch.

She extended her ribbons, willing the little one to come to her, hoping to end her pain and absorb her sadness and grief like she had everything else on earth.

And she smiled when the last Witch approached her, trusting and open, and did not fight when Gretchen wrapped her ribbons around her and brought her closer to her body...