If Madoka were human, this would be her 15th birthday. As far as Homura is concerned, her time as a goddess doesn't really count, because that's outside of human time to begin with.
This birthday, like all the others, goes unnoticed and uncelebrated save for in Homura's heart. She doesn't show it to anyone, because birthdays mean growing old, mean change , mean an end to the status quo.
After all, if time is allowed to pass normally, then all of the momentum of the world has to go somewhere. And it might just take Madoka with it, washing her away like sand on the beach, like sand through an hourglass.
When Homura goes to school the next day - or rather, when she projects herself down into her labyrinth, displacing a constructed body through the tangled layers of time in her own pocket universe - she finds Madoka procrastinating as long as possible before walking in the front door, her body splayed across the ( fake ) grass of the lawns and a small featureless tome in her hands.
It's as amusing as it is jarring, to see Madoka of all people not eagerly living up to the expectations placed on her. It's amusing to watch her be a kid, like she's still 14 after all and like she was never a god.
"Madoka?" She asks, somewhere between dreamy and shy. The girl starts with a little squeak of surprise, fumbling and dropping the book to the ground, where it flops open. She rubbs the back of her head almost guiltily.
"Aha… sorry, Homura-chan. Did you need something?"
Homura smiles, unable to help herself. She really should know better than to be happy over something so wrong , shouldn't she?
But she leans down and picks up the book, handing it to Madoka. Her eyes dance across the pages, plucking meaningless words up and away - clockwork universe, watchmaker - even as Madoka grabs it back.
"No, Madoka." She says. "Everything is fine. I was just wondering what had you so preoccupied. Class is starting soon, after all!"
Madoka smiles right back.
"Yeah, well, it is a good book…"
"Can I borrow it?" Homura finds herself asking. It's pointless, when she knows everything in the labyrinth like the back of her hand - books and people alike - and there's no value to reading things the normal way. But at the same time, it's nice to pretend to be human.
"Of course you can, Homura-chan!" Madoka says with a little innocent smile.
Homura smiles again, but of course, she isn't innocent no matter how hard she pretends.
(She never does borrow the book from Madoka.)
If Madoka were human, this would be her 18th birthday. No one notices or celebrates, save for Homura, but even that hardly counts as a celebration, when time is like taffy to her, anyways. All stretchy and malleable and foldable, just like space itself becomes a plaything in a normal labyrinth.
Sayaka Miki remembers. Again .
But it's easy to snuff out her memories as soon as they rise to the surface. If Madoka was able to be everywhere, for every Magical Girl, then Homura has to be there for anyone who could disrupt Madoka's new life.
Intellectually, Madoka thinks she knows that she's only known Homura for a few months - even if sometimes she wonders if something is wrong with time, and they've known each other for much longer.
But all her memories and idle thoughts aside, she trusts Homura with all her heart, like she's known the often-distant girl for all of eternity.
"You wear your heart on your sleeve, Madoka." Homura says jokingly, when Madoka tears up in the middle of a film that they're watching.
"Maybe you should take it for safekeeping, Homura-chan." Madoka jokes right back. Homura stiffens, and suddenly Madoka realizes that the joke has taken on a life of it's own, beyond the innocuous shape that Homura tried to give it.
If Madoka were human, this would be her 50th birthday. Not even Homura celebrates it, because it's not much like any other day in Madoka Kaname's new life.
Sayaka Miki remembers, again.
She doesn't remember for long.
Time has blurred into itself like smeared pastels and the inks of flowers trampled underfoot. Homura doesn't remember when exactly she gave into her (selfish) desires and kissed Madoka for the first time, but she certainly knows how it happened - entangled in blankets under Madoka's roof and sharing body heat like it was ambrosia and nectar. She also knows that it wasn't the last time.
There is no 'last time' in sight, save perhaps for the end of days when Madoka wakes up and remembers how evil Homura is, and kills her. Perhaps theomachy is the proper word, or maybe götterdämmerung.
She deserves it, deserves to die, doesn't she? It's not as if she exists for herself, but rather, for Madoka.
Madoka is reading again.
"What are you reading, Madoka?" Homura asks with feigned curiosity. Madoka turns to the side, her eyes skipping across the window sill and skidding across the snow-dappled sunset which Homura silently conjured up to please Madoka.
Madoka always did love the winters.
"Nothing." Madoka says with an innocent little shrug. "Just a book about the history of science."
Homura gave Madoka a look.
"I didn't know you were interested in that sort of thing."
It's something to remember for the future. When Madoka goes looking for something in this invented world, it's always easier if Homura has had time to prepare for it beforehand. It's always easier to invent a history when you have time.
But then again, Homura has all of the time in the world.
"I don't know if I like it that much." Madoka murmured. "But some of the ideas are interesting. Like the whole idea of a clockwork universe."
Homura had been standing over by the stove, cooking dinner to perfection for Madoka. She doesn't really remember how food is made - not after years of time-looping as a walking, superpowered corpse, and not after years of life living inside the dreamscape of the labyrinth. But it's easy to cook, because she is the god of this world, and creating something is as easy as distilling the ideal.
Top-down creation, rather than bottom-up.
"Haven't you read that book before, Madoka?"
Madoka smiles, small and innocent.
"Maybe I have? Who knows."
Homura leans over to kiss Madoka - which is easy, all things considered, even though Homura is in the kitchen and Madoka is in the living room - and considers reading over Madoka's shoulder.
Then she turns away, doubt niggling in her chest.
"Come on, Madoka, the stew will be ready in just a moment."
If Madoka were human, this would be her 103rd birthday. No-one cares about that, not really.
Sayaka Miki remembers, again. Homura no longer considers that unusual - she has built it into her schedule by now. She has accommodations in place.
Even though Sayaka never remembers all the way, she still isn't ever happy for Madoka and Homura.
"She gives me the creeps, you know."
"Sayaka-chan! That's not nice!"
"What, do you want me to lie about it?"
Madoka ignores Sayaka, because even though she knows that Homura can seem creepy, well, Madoka never sees it. Instead she sees sharp and intense eyes, feels hands which run through her hair, a counterpart who makes her feel like maybe she matters .
Madoka daydreams, sometimes, about being God. Somehow even that seems flat, compared to making Homura happy.
That's a job which matters.
If Madoka were human, this would be her 316th birthday. Homura stops counting the passage of the days and weeks and months and years, even though - with her time powers - it would be a cinch to keep track.
Every 'year' that passes in their private limbo just makes her feel worse. She soldiers on anyways, because how she feels doesn't matter.
Like a throwback to earlier days, Homura and Madoka find themselves tied together under blankets and on top of the couch. Something or other flickers across the screen of the television - a fragment of Homura's imagination, but Madoka reacts as if it's the greatest story ever told - and casts pale light across their faces.
Still, Homura distantly realizes that they haven't slept in weeks. Or what passes for 'weeks' in this place.
"Madoka." She whispers. "Do you mind if I turn off the television?"
Madoka shrugs sleepily, burrowing deeper into the blankets and into Homura's chest.
"Okay."
The television flickers off. Madoka doesn't notice that Homura never touched the remote.
"You should get to sleep." Homura mutters. But Madoka is already snoring.
She looks so small and innocent, and that only makes Homura love her more. But the fact that she can be attracted to something as abstract as Madoka's innocence makes her feel sick to her stomach.
She feels like she has defiled both Madoka and herself.
When Madoka wakes up again, Homura is gone - fled to the toilet to evacuate her stomach of bile. It's a meaningless gesture, because as usual, her body doesn't house her soul or even matter in the scheme of things.
Madoka still rushes to her side.
"Homura-chan!? Are you alright!?" She cries, before shaking her head. "No, of course you're not alright. Hold on-"
Finally, Homura stops heaving, and Madoka helps her get cleaned up. Or tries to, at any rate.
"Don't." Homura tries to say boldly. It comes out more like a pathetic whimper. "Don't touch me."
She turns away, tries to think of something, anything to do about this. If only she had the courage to just run without having to look at Madoka - but instead, she let Madoka think that they loved each other.
Homura can't run without hurting Madoka. Homura can't be with Madoka without hurting her.
For a second, Homura contemplates some kind of reset, to wipe it all away - it's not like she hasn't done it before, in the uncountable time loops.
But no, Madoka takes her head in her hands, her fingers trailing across Homura's chin in spite of how dirty it was just a moment ago. And Homura loses all of her resolve, for anything.
"I want to die." Homura whispers into the hands which cradle her face, without even thinking about it. The look on Madoka's face is so horrified, it makes her feel vindicated for once in her sorry life. "I am horrible, I've done more to hurt you than anyone in the world-"
She wants to die for more reasons than just her failure of Madoka. She's always been weak, a fool, an empty shell. But somehow, that's still all she can voice - her devotion to Madoka.
"-I'm despicable." She finishes. Madoka looks affronted.
"That's just not true, Homura-chan! You can't say those things about yourself!"
Homura is quiet for a few moments, but her tears fall freely, staining Madoka's hands.
"You don't even love me." Homura whispers. "I know you think you do, but you don't know the truth. I've lied to you, and betrayed you, and I'm just… I'm just…"
Madoka leans down and takes Homura into a crushing hug.
"I know you would leave me, if you could. So I trapped you here. Because I thought it would make you happy."
"Don't say such things." Madoka whispers, as warmly and kindly as anyone can whisper. "I'm not here because you trapped me. I'm here because I love you."
Homura cries into Madoka's shoulder.
In the morning, she brushes it off as the byproduct of a bad nightmare. The incident is never brought up again, although events much like it continue to happen.
In the timelessness of the labyrinth, the both of them are just as eternal as the Law of Cycles, without beginning, without end, and without anyone to count the seconds.
Homura finds herself distracted once again by Sayaka Miki's unfortunate moments of remembrance.
While Homura looks away, Madoka finds herself paging through a familiar book once again.
"Why do you read that so often, Madoka?" Mami asks as she sips her tea. She doesn't ask unkindly.
"It just… intrigues me." Madoka mutters. "The idea of a clockwork universe."
Mami quirks an eyebrow, an obvious sign for 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'
"It's like the whole analogy of the watchmaker." Madoka obligingly continues. "I like to imagine that if there's a God out there - who wrote the rules of this world - that they can leave their creation behind. Like a watchmaker would leave his watch behind, and the watch would continue running."
"That's… a rather strange thing to be hopeful for." Mami notes, her eyebrows still getting into contortions.
"Well." Madoka says, trying to explain. "Maybe the gods have hopes and dreams, too, beyond their roles in the cosmos."
"What would someone like a god even hope and dream for?" Mami asks skeptically, settling on confusion.
Madoka smiles, small and innocent and sad. If her pupils burn a brighter gold than Mami's could ever hope to reach, no-one notices it, not even Madoka.
"Who knows? I guess they always say that God works in mysterious ways."
Mami walks away with the uncomfortable feeling that Madoka wanted to say more, but was cutting herself short.
Homura descends from above, landing soundlessly next to Madoka. Even if her landing is effortless, Homura still can barely restrain her shocked and gasping sobs.
"How long have you known?" She asks with a rasping voice. Madoka shakes her head, smiling bitterly.
"It's not that simple, Homura-chan-!"
"Shut up!" Homura screams. She can't be taunted by her failure, won't be taunted by her failure, by the fact that she couldn't stop Madoka from remembering godhood, couldn't make her innocent again. "Just answer my question."
Madoka sighs, turning away from Homura and hiding her face.
"It's not as simple as knowing or not knowing." She says gently. "I've remembered for a long, long time now. But it doesn't change anything."
She turns back to Homura, and her eyes are hard, but also infinitely forgiving and sad.
Homura trembles from head to toe, her world falling to pieces around her.
"What the hell is this, then?" She screams again. "You wouldn't lie to me , you wouldn't play along with this! Why did you pretend that you didn't remember!?"
"For the same reason that you pretended." Madoka says, all too kindly. "Because it made the person you loved happy."
She sighs. "But I guess this place - this heaven you made for me - can't make you happy forever. That's why we're here after all. Why I'm telling you the truth."
Homura can't stand the forgiveness in Madoka's eyes, can't stand her knowing who she really is and loving her anyways .
Homura readies her memory-alteration magic, and for a second she contemplates ripping out Madoka's memories until there is nothing left.
But.
"If it didn't work on you before, I doubt it would work the second time." Homura says weakly. "Doing something over and over again is the definition of insanity, isn't it?"
Madoka looks sorrowful.
"If you really believed that, would you have gone back in time, time and time again?"
Homura laughs darkly.
"Yes."
She turns her memory-erasing magic in on herself, and forgets that Madoka knows. Forgets everything.
She is selfish, and she knows it.
If Madoka were human, this would be her 15th birthday. As far as Homura is concerned, her time as a goddess doesn't really count, because that's outside of human time to begin with.
This birthday, like all the others, goes unnoticed and uncelebrated save for in Homura's heart. She doesn't show it to anyone, because birthdays mean growing old, mean change , mean an end to the status quo.
After all, if time is allowed to pass normally, then all of the momentum of the world has to go somewhere. And it might just take Madoka with it, washing her away like sand on the beach, like sand through an hourglass.
Time passes in indeterminable amounts. And like clockwork, Homura finds herself distracted once again by Sayaka Miki's unfortunate moments of remembrance.
"How long have you known?" Homura asks tiredly, feeling older than time itself. Madoka looks sad.
"Since the beginning, I suppose."
"Why?" Homura whispers. "Why did you play along? Sayaka… Kyoko… all the other people I thought I dragged in here. Are they even real!?"
"Not exactly." Madoka whispers. "This place is for us and for us alone."
"And why did you ever let me believe that you didn't know?" Homura asks again, heartbroken at her miserable failures.
Madoka just looked at Homura with her familiar pink eyes, unmarred by God's power. Homura looked away, couldn't bear to face those pinks-
"For the same reason that you pretended." Madoka says, all too kindly. "Because it made the person you loved happy."
She sighs. "But I guess this place - this heaven you made for me - can't make you happy forever. That's why we're here after all. Why I'm telling you the truth."
Homura shakes from head to toe. For a moment, she considers wiping it all away, just resetting everything until nothing remains, not even a memory.
But.
"We've done this before, haven't we?" Homura asks bitterly. Madoka… just… nods.
"Too many times, Homura-chan."
And Homura is caught in her own indecision.
"But it's just like you said once before, Homura-chan." Madoka says, stepping up to Homura and looking up into her eyes. "I'll do it over with you, no matter how many times it takes... I'll relive it over and over again, with you. Homura-chan… if it's for you, I'll stay trapped in this endless maze of yours... forever."
Homura wants to cry, or maybe scream, or maybe run.
Madoka brushes away one of the tears that Homura didn't even know was setting itself free. She doesn't deserve to be touched by Madoka - or at least, that's what she believes.
"Stop it. Please."
"I can't." Madoka says. "I never could."
"You can't save me!" Homura says. And, yes, Madoka can save her, but what Homura really means is that she shouldn't .
Madoka understands what Homura is trying to say, anyways.
"You don't get it, Homura." Madoka says. "I've already forgiven you. Even if you were the most evil magical girl in all of history, I would still forgive you."
And then Homura knows that she wants to scream , because if Homura is selfishness, then Madoka is selflessness, and Homura is only going to drag Madoka down with her-
"You've put your trust in me before." Madoka concludes. "So put your trust in me again. Please. Let me forgive you, even if you're not ready to forgive yourself."
If before, Homura had been crying in earnest, now she sobs.
"I'm sorry, Madoka…"
"I know." Madoka says. And, well, maybe it's not enough that Homura is sorry, maybe it will never be enough.
But it is enough for Homura to be forgiven and to feel like she can be happy again, even if she doesn't feel like she deserves it.
"I'm so sorry, Madoka…"
"I know, Homura-chan." Madoka says. "I'm sorry, too."