She woke up to a wonderful morning.
Her body was light, almost unnaturally so; it seemed more relaxed than it had been in years. Decades, even. That's how she felt, anyway.
Surely she must have been incredibly tired before to feel so refreshed now, but for some reason it hadn't come to her attention previously. Perhaps the exhaustion had been so great, so consuming, so commonly present, that she simply hadn't noticed.
That thought was too grim for such a fine day, she decided, and so turned her mind to other things, dismissing her earlier ruminations.
Sunlight was streaming in, gentle and gold, from her window, and when she twitched the curtains further apart, they revealed a sky of vivid cerulean behind them. Looking down, she was surprised to observe people on the streets below: there was a group of girls, chatting happily while ambling down the pavement; a man, whistling as he strolled; an elderly couple, walking their dog hand in hand.
That was a bit odd, actually. Since when had her neighbourhood – a term she hesitated briefly before using, since it had never occurred to her to label it as such – been so lively? Even if it was the weekend, she had moved to Mitakihara nearly a month ago, and could not recall it ever looking like this.
…Though if she thought about it, the outside had been mostly hidden to her: the holographic layer which transformed the apartment into seemingly boundless white space had been taken down just yesterday, and only then had she remembered that the flat actually had windows.
Even the ceiling was unfamiliar to her.
Not to mention how there had always been some pressing matter that would not – could not – wait, and as a result it was extremely rare for her to sleep until this time of barely-before-noon anyway. Yes, she hadn't had the time, there had never been enough time – but she could not remember for her life what she had needed that time for.
Her memory really wasn't working today.
Perhaps it was because of the combined factors of a leaky recollection and strange surroundings which ought to have been familiar, but she was currently feeling like a stranger in her own skin.
For it was as if the world had been reborn overnight, and she was the only one who hadn't changed.
.
The flowers in the park were in full blossom, magnificent swathes of colour seeming to speak of the second coming of spring, and the tree-leaves' rustling seemed the music of Nature herself. A mild breeze tickled her skin, providing a welcome respite to the heat.
She was not alone in partaking of this sensory feast: adults picnicked in the cool shadows of the boughs, watching on indulgently as their children laughed and played in the sun.
When had she last been able to appreciate a scene like this? Too long ago, surely.
—In fact, thinking about it, had she ever? Her adolescence had been spent enclosed in the white walls of a hospital, her childhood at school or in her bedroom. Her parents had never really had the time or inclination to take her out, anyway. This could very well be her first time.
She didn't know quite how to respond to that.
Should she be happy, being able to experience it now?
Should she be sad, having never experienced it before?
Maybe neither at all.
Perhaps giving an emotional matter intellectual consideration killed the instinctual response, but she was currently feeling apathetic more than anything else. If only she could just enjoy herself properly – but she could not, she had not the heart to do so.
What a miserable thing I am, she thought. Gifted with lovely weather and pleasant surroundings, and completely incapable of feeling grateful for it. God save me.
.
By the time she got back, the Sun had long dipped below the horizon, and her apartment was sunken in darkness.
The light-switch was, if she was correct, somewhere over— there— a fumbling hand connected with the elusive switch, and the lights came on.
She looked around, since the place still seemed a bit strange to her after moving everything around, and her eyes fell upon the night-stand pushed inconspicuously against one of the walls to her side: specifically on the two crimson ribbons lying on it.
She paused.
Why hadn't she noticed them earlier?
So it was true – she was nothing but a foreigner in this land now.
Everything returned to how it had been before, if only in her own mind.
She remembered kindness, love, sacrifice—
Sacrifice, failure, loss—
Loss, sorrow, despair—
And, at the end of it, nothing.
Yes.
It was a beautiful day.
This is really just the product (probably non-canon-compliant) of me wondering how Homura would have "transitioned" between the pre- and post-Madoka universes. The scene where she grieves, slightly inappropriately, over Madoka while everybody else is thinking about Sayaka's death might suggest that her pre-Madoka consciousness just drops in and replaces her post-Madoka one, but I thought it'd be interesting to explore how she might behave if there wasn't a clean replacement like that.