Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: First legit Madoka-fic! (My tumblr-derp about hammer time doesn't count. 8/) I hope you enjoy, Hannah—this is for you. :3

Warnings: Probably fail!characterization? I haven't seen the whole series yet. 8D; Spoilers for episode three and Charlotte's backstory. Mmm… cake.

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Cravings

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Little girls, I have been told, are made of sugar, spice, and everything nice. It is a misleading mortal idiom: really, little girls are made of the same decaying organic substances as any other human-creature. Meat and bones, lipids and nerves. When they are hurt, they seep copper, not syrup. When they are sad, they leak saline fluids—nothing saccharine or honeyed. The husk of a little girl, magical or otherwise, is no more or less special than any other on this planet.

But their souls—sautéed in sorrow and blackened by despair— those I can believe have sweeter origins. Crystallized logos has a sugary aftertaste; the spice of loathing and fury caramelizes beneath a jeweled crust of old magic. The seeds of their grief are to me like candy, and therefore encapsulate everything nice. Emotions are a disorder of weak minds, yes, but they do add color to otherwise drab meals. What might have served simply as sustenance is now, to a degree, enjoyable.

Humans are enjoyable. It is bad manners to play with your food, but I can't help it. Their lack of logic makes them difficult to comprehend, like a puzzle with missing pieces. I know I will never solve it, but I don't particularly care; the game is fun while it lasts. They are an underdeveloped life-form, anyway. Even if I should try to educate and assist, to fill in blanks on their behalf, they wouldn't understand or accept my wisdom. I know a fruitless endeavor when I see one, and I am not so foolish as to waste my time. So instead, I choose to accept what fruits they can offer me, and nibble contentedly on them.

Oh, if only my Contractors could be so content. Instead, they pointlessly desire what they can never have. And even when they are granted what festering needs lie within their hearts, they inevitably grow bitter and wrathful. They blame me for giving them exactly what they asked for. They rot from the inside out, collapsing from within like an under-baked pastry. It stands to follow, I guess; the humans have a phrase for just such people— those who get what is coming to them. They are said to receive their "just desserts."

I am fond of this phrase. And I ponder it with pleasure as I watch Charlotte enjoy her desserts, popping a tiny blonde head like a gumball. Or a truffle. Or a small wedge of cheese, or a bite of rich cake.

I wonder if Mami tastes like cheesecake. (It's too bad I will never know, myself.) I wonder if, in her final moments, Mami realized her mistake. (I did promise she wouldn't die alone.) I wonder if Charlotte would have fallen to ribbons and guns, had the witch not overheard a familiar wish suggested. ("Why don't you wish for a fabulous cake?" she'd said. And she: "I wish… for my mother and I…")

Silly mortals.

Little girls are made of sugar, spice, and everything nice, not intelligence, acumen, and wit. And so they wish for nice things, exciting things, sweet things. Their dreams are big, but their desires small. Amusing enigmas, the lot of them; my goals are much the same, yet exactly the opposite. So much simpler. Simple and natural. Just as little girls feast on witches, and witches on little girls, and humankind on other humans, all I wish is to feed. Because to feed is to live, and I want to live.

Poor, senseless creatures. I could have given them life, too, had they only asked. Had they been able to think straight for a fraction of a moment… But that is asking rather a lot from their bitty broken brains. So instead, they remain no more than walking treats, with sad eyes full of longing: flawless gems to cloud with faucets and poison. A new link on an ouroboros food chain.

Sugar, spice, and everything nice. Her blood smells like frosting as it lands in noisy splatters— the floor is soon a mess with red velvet crumbles.

"Just desserts" the mortals call it.

No wonder it's so yummy.

XXX