I last saw Homura at the bus stop. We sat next to each other, so close that our legs pressed against each other. The spaces between the wooden planks on the the bench pinched our butts and thighs. Splinters snagged our pleated skirts and her tights. Our weight made the bench sag and creak. Homura leaned against the handrail, looking pale and weak. I could make out thin, blue veins under her skin like rivers. She didn't look at me. Her head tilted away from me and her eyes switched between watching the ants creep up the legs of the bench and the sky.
I sit in her spot, leaning my weight against the handrail, titling my head the same way she had. My bangs fall into my eyes, their sharp tips stabbing my eyelids. I wrap my fingers around the handrail. The metal burns. I hold on so tight my fingertips turn white. Ants skirt around my hands, the fading sunlight glinting off their shiny black armor. "Homura, what do you think I should do?" I ask her ghost.
"Who are you talking to?"
I flinch. A sliver of wood scratches the underside of my thigh before burying into the skin. I lift up my leg and tug at the splinter, wincing as it pulls out. "No one." My eyes flick up to meet whoever had spoken. No one was there. Soft giggles puff against my ear, wet and heavy.
"Hey," hot air hisses against my neck. "You want to find her?" A crick shoots through the muscles in my neck, stiffening it to where it won't turn. I don't want to twist my body because I can feel her, so close the heat of her body presses against my skin.
"Who?"
"The girl you were talking to."
"What girl? No one's here."
Another giggle. "I know how you can help her."
I inhale, turning in time with the movement, brushing against the fabric of her clothes. We are so close the tips of our noses brush against each other in a mock eskimo kiss. This close all I can make out are her eyes, huge, unnatural, framed with fake lashes, surrounded by skin covered with so much makeup that it's chunky with clotted foundation. I pull back, pressing my back against the handrail. It's edge digs into my skin, wedging between the vertebra of my spine. The corners of her mouth twitch, trying to widen her grin but jumping back when the muscles of her face complain. Her teeth are gray, and slimy with saliva. "So you want me to tell you how you can save her?"
"How?" I croak. My heart pounds in my ears and my cheeks feel warm.
Her lips curl back from her teeth, revealing pink gums. "Have you heard of magical girls?" The tip of her tongue darts out to swipe the slime off of her teeth. Her tongue is black and fat, like an eel.
"Of course," I say. "Everyone's heard of magical girls."
"How would you feel about becoming one?"
"What?"
"I can tell you how," she giggles, her voice breathy and her eyes shining with excitement. She leans in closer to me, so close I can feel her eyelashes brush against my cheek. Thin streaks of mascara smear onto my skin, like the scratch marks from a small animal. "Would you like to know?" she whispers against my face.
I back away until I'm sitting on top of the handrail. Cold air slaps my face once I'm away from her. "How w-would you know?" I stutter, rubbing the side of my face she was pressed against, trying to rub her off of me. "Are you a magical girl?"
Suddenly something slams into my chest, making a loud, hollow thunk with impact. I land on my back against the ground. The air rushes out of my lungs in one big oof. "I am not," the girl says. Her arms are still raised in front of her, parallel to the ground, and her hands flexed. She's smiling down at me.
"How?" I wheeze.
"Hmmm?"
"How do I become a magical girl?"
She leans over the rail. Her hair shadows her face. "Meet me here tomorrow. I'll bring my sisters. We'll take you." She reaches down and grabs my wrists, pulling me up to my feet. Her hands are small, baby-like, and the skin is hard, cracked. The girl slips off the bench.
"Who are you?"
"Me and my sisters, we're the Clara Dolls and Homura's best interests are our best interests too. So please, do show, Madoka."
Before I could say another word she was gone.