Short one, I know, but these are drabbles. Some of them are going to be short.

Never Look Back

I wonder at the fates of all the worlds you left behind.

In this timeline, Kyubey finds out about Homura's time-traveling abilities early on, and says that simple sentence to her, to shake her resolve, Homura has no doubt. She resists the urge to snort as she takes a draught from her steaming cup of plum tea. Rain splatters on her window; water beads slide sluggishly down the glass. She has planning to do, here in the dark with her single lamp (The projector's been acting up, and she doesn't really need it anyways). She doesn't have time to be playing mind games with Kyubey. Not now.

Let's see, Homura thinks to herself, looking over the map laid out on her coffee table and the markings on it. Walpurgisnacht appears in… this sector of town, normally. She taps a fingernail against a red-circled section of the map, holding her porcelain cup in her free hand. But occasionally she will show up… here—her finger shifts further north—or here—now, further west—instead. I suppose it all depends on where the eye of the storm falls when she arrives.

And now, to keep Madoka from showing up at the battleground when the day comes.

Homura tries to keep her thoughts occupied on Walpurgisnacht, and planning for the arrival of the great Queen of Witches. As rote and worn-out as these preparations have become, Homura was and is a creature of habit. There's comfort in routine.

But the Incubator's words are, as ever, insidious, sneaking into her brain. That's how it hooked all of us, after all, with its words. The Incubator always chose its words carefully, chose the ones most likely to haunt us in wakefulness and sleep.

What did happen to all those Earths?

Homura sips her tea and leans back into the sofa cushions, her eyes staring out at but not really seeing the rain-soaked world beyond the window. The clock that she knows well ticks in her ear, and she wonders about all those Earths.

There were, true, some times when Homura had left because Madoka had died or been killed (without turning into a Witch, even), and simply because of that. However, under most circumstances, she would leave the Earth in a past timeline behind because she could not defeat Walpurgisnacht and Madoka had contracted. Under those circumstances, Walpurgisnacht was the least of Earth's problems when Homura left.

How did those worlds, all of those worlds, fare under Kriemhild Gretchen? Did the Witch really deliver on her promise of paradise, or did she simply destroy everything under her sphere of influence? Did the Witch of Salvation prove to be one of Destruction instead?

For a moment Homura wonders. For a moment, she ponders the fates of all those worlds she left behind.

Then, she pulls her mind away from those thoughts abruptly, flinching and drawing a deep breath.

Homura has spent untold months (Years? Decades? She really couldn't say anymore.) telling herself that she can't afford to feel guilty about the things she did, or the things she didn't do. She has to save Madoka. If she lets even a little bit of guilt get out, that crack will make the floodgates burst, and all that will do is render Homura incapable of helping Madoka or anyone else.

I have to do this, she tells herself, ignoring the way her hands shake. I have to save Madoka. I can't look back. I just can't.