Trial and Error
"How are you so good at this, Homura-chan?"
You hold her hand in this corridor of the night, stunned by its warmth. The faint image of her corpse flashes at the back of your mind.
"There is never enough training. A magical girl has to be ready at all times."
Her face is too serene for you to bear ‒ her cheeks so pink and alive, flushed with fascination for your moves, stand out brightly against the ones you remember. You still see them torn by spasms, pale and dead. You wake up to it almost every morning.
"I-I wish I could be like you. I could… maybe I could save lives, just like…"
She falls silent, and her grip tightens to a shiver of fear. She is thrilled, and she knows too little. There was no Sayaka to save her this time, not for now ‒ you pray it will be useful, at least, to help you keep her farther. Still, the danger of ignorance is too much.
She has not suffered enough to understand, not this time. You see her walking right towards the trap, with her delicate steps, not yet made heavy by any death.
You have seen how cheerful this Sayaka is, and in what endearing way Mami smiles to her.
The following week, Madoka is a magical girl.
You curse yourself with every new step. Even now, on the edge of definitively losing the long count, you were not ready enough. It is so cruel, so ironical, for you to be late.
It freezes your blood when you think of how easily Mami passes as a veteran. A teacher with such a fragile balance, going to the lengths of bringing them along unarmed, means danger to anyone. To her, it is a risk you don't even want to start thinking about.
As you enter the labyrinth, struggling with the fire in your throat and the blur your field of vision is becoming, a yellow bullet flashes in your memory. It overlaps with Kyoko's empty eyes, then shifts to her, her sobs filling every corner of you.
You will never forget her scream of agony. Not a single one of them, actually. And you know better now, now that it is too late ‒ you should never have let her go with Mami Tomoe.
You stop just in time to see three lifeless bodies, and she is ice cold, even less real in the still parenthesis your shield has created. There is no need to break it ‒ you let it enclose your infinite scream, your desperation, your embrace.
All the time that is left, you fill with a mantra. You won't leave her alone once.
The blow is so violent that you barely realize you are dying.
Your magic is just enough to patch the smaller wounds. Your body matches the shards of the buildings bending on you; you are broken and aching and with a limp arm, as your mind grows too fuzzy to remember what is to be done yet.
Under the doomed shadows of Walpurgisnacht, in spite of everything, you are slipping away.
Muffled, misty, you hear her steps and her desperate voice. Now only, with the first hints of her presence, fear gets the best of you.
It was impossible to keep her away from you in this cycle. She kept sighing and coming back, patching her delusions. This must be the last time she will love you that much, and you burn inside at the thought.
"Homura-chan! No! This can't be happening! Please-"
There is so much you desperately need to say, so many processes you need to stop immediately ‒ instead, all you can offer her is a choked sob. You have to watch the last of your hope flow away, right in front of your powerless eyes.
"Kyubey… I b-beg you, save Homura-chan…"
The pain makes you deaf. You don't even hear the ritual. The last thing you look at is her, darting to Walpurgisnacht at the peak of her new power.
You are already used to failing. What sickens you is that, this time, you were the failure itself.
You let your fully healed body scream in despair, right before the destroyed town fades from your sight.
"I am so alone."
Madoka cringes in the darkness of her bedroom. The small creatuer follows her with his eyes, ever attentive and uncaring, as his shape blends in with the soft toys.
"You really don't see it after all, Kyubey," she sobs. "I don't expect you to understand. But… there is something you can do for me."
"Are you ready then, Madoka? What will it be?"
In your cold, empty house, you wake up. You feel no other impulse than stare at the ceiling. To you, loneliness was lost many cycles more than you can count.
"Sayaka-chan and Kyoko-chan are dead," she says bluntly, expecting no effect in return. "They died together. And Mami-san… she… you were there. There… there is just me. Nobody else left… nobody but the two of us."
Kyubey jumps down the shelf, swaying his long tail in interest. He is ready to collect his due ‒ you still don't know how much it will cost you.
"I have chosen my wish," she stutters. "Let Homura-chan be my friend."
When she knocks at your door in the afternoon, jumping to you with the strongest hug she can manage, you have no idea how to cope with it.
Your defenses, the countless layers of apathy you are wrapped in, crack to pieces with each of her words. She cries, shakes, explains, and the sweetness of having her close ‒ at least this once, for the first time in who knows how long ‒ grows as fast as your fury.
As long as you have her here, nonetheless, you let the tears fall. You hold her with all your might, shutting out your countless mistakes; you hold her to make up for all the delays, the wounds and the isolation, for all the times you left her to die, for the wrong variables of a single, terrible fate.
You hold Madoka for all the times you weren't enough for her. This one, you acknowledge in despair, is included.
That night, you slaughter Kyubey as many times as you can. You won't let that pass ‒ taking her soul for free was much more than a simple lie.
By the time it happens, you are ready.
Her whisper flows so sweet in your ear ‒ after so many years of waiting, each day with the hope to hear her voice again, it is all you could ask for. You always came back for her; this time, it is she who came to save you.
Your wings spread, pitch black and colourful as fireworks. You both know what it means. They remind you of what you have accomplished together, of the things you have all gained, and those you have sacrificed.
It is part of the balance of this world, flawed and beautiful as it is; there is no improvement without mistakes, and no mistake comes without pain.
It was always hard to deal with yourself. As the force of time drew the two of you apart, it became nearly impossible to accept all your mistakes. But she is here, and was there, to help you; it makes you lighter to know how much has changed since then.
Then, in the moment you fade, you are sure of it. You finally know the taste of forgiveness.