The moons light swam over her, pushing her, pushing towards the edge.

Beckoning.

Beckoning with it's beauty, filling her up with warmth, like laughter.

Roses of happiness just before roses of death, they called to her.

She would be free, as the darkness swam over her, she would be satisfied.

Perfectly satisfied, they would stop their manifestation and die.

Die, to die, is the freedom.

Fields of flowers, they would be cursed.

She could only think about what await, thinking.

Stories of Octavia von Seckendorff, of Walpurgis Night.

Stories of Madoka Kaname, Homura Akemi, Kyoko Sakura.

Stories that pushed her to this strength, this justice, to be a Magical Girl.

Stories that would push her to the edge.

She fell.

She lived, and she died, only thinking of one word.

Amen.