Before we head out for the day, I thought I'd let you know I've been contemplating the symbolism of Gnostic cosmology. It's something I'd found in my studies into Abrahamic theology - distancing myself from my Catholic upbringing has proven hard, and my first instinct upon ascension was to research whether or not it would earn me damnation (the answer, for the record, is obviously no. I can't die, therefore I can't have an afterlife).

Gnosticism, as you might have pieced together by now, is an Abrahamic religion drawing inspiration from the teachings of Plato, and focuses heavily on the idea of a Godly realm, Pleroma, from which the real world is derived. Pleroma is the product of a perfect God, and therefore it is also perfect, but the real world is the product of a fallible, false god, the demiurge, who resides outside of Pleroma.

Do you see why this is problematic? If the Narrator does exist in that higher world, as she claims, then her symbolism falls apart unless she isn't the one creating the world of her story. So, then, who is...?

I don't have a good answer. Nonetheless, it's food for thought I imagined you might enjoy.

That said, though, shall we go? We wouldn't want to keep the others waiting.

The mall is unusually crowded this morning. Then again, I suppose I'm unused to Sunday mornings in places like this, but what little of a holy woman still remains in me has gone mad with the power of an achronological life, and has been losing track of notions of regularity.

There is a booth at a fast food joint wherein at least two of any of us have sat in every timeline. I doubt anyone understood the significance of my insistence on it (even me, ashamed to reflect on such worthless sentiment), but I doubt almost as much that anyone cared, and thus, here we are. Only Miki and myself are present as yet: Kyoko had slept in and is hurriedly making her way here at this very moment, and Madoka is in the bathroom.

To call the conversation strained would be a formidable understatement.

"So," she says, as if she's about to make something of it, but she stops herself.

"So," I parrot.

"If you're worried that I think it's weird for you to have a crush on my best friend-"

I interrogate, far faster than my better judgement would have me do, "what makes you think I have a crush on her?"

"Because most people wouldn't say that while going bright red in the face."

I straighten up at the remark. I know it shouldn't get to me, and yet...

"It's okay, though. I don't have a problem with it. I just had no idea you were... you know. The kind to swing this way."

"Am I?"

"Well, obviously! You're in love with a girl, aren't you?"

"It's complicated."

She giggles. "You're right, you're right."

"I'd been to all-girls schools before. Rather many, in fact, and I'd never felt like this before. Besides, I'm not sure if my interests even line up with whatever you're expecting. I'm just generally infatuated with her, really. Nothing untoward or immodest."

"Huh? So what do you want with her, then?"

"Anything she asks for. I want to give her the world."

"Ahaha! So you want to be, like, her maid or valet or something?"

"That's not exactly..."

Cut. Take 2.

"Well, I mean..."

Cut. Take 3.

"I'm not against the, erm..."

Cut. Take 4.

"If that would make her happy, then yes."

She doesn't lose her smile, but she shakes her head. "You honestly don't stand a chance with her if you're going to be like that. I mean, I could spend hours trying to psychoanalyze why your ideal relationship has nothing to do with you and everything to do with her, but more importantly, she'd hate that! She'd worry about you for every second of that, and she'd get all upset if you start acting like your own feelings don't matter. You know that, right?"

I'm reluctant to accept that, but reluctance and refusal are two very different things. "...I suppose you have a point. Then again, I suppose her selflessness is what draws me to her."

"Jeez, tell me about it. It's like I hardly even know her anymore."

"Was she not like this when you were younger?"

"Not at all! She was totally self-conscious all the time. I mean sure, she's still a little shy. But on the inside, she's so obviously more sure of herself."

"It may be that's just a part of growing up," I find myself musing.

"Yeah, I guess. I just didn't think she'd beat me to it..."

Cut.

Miki leans over Madoka's desk. "Okay, this is gonna sound ridiculous, but I didn't even recognize you until you introduced yourself."

Madoka laughs, half in good humor and half in nerves. "I would have said hi as soon as I got back in town, but I didn't know where you lived now."

Shizuki chimes in: "Do you two know each other?"

"Yeah, me and Madoka went to elementary together, before she went to the States. She looks a lot different to how she used to, though! I guess America really changes people, huh?"

"Well, we were only eleven..."

And, action.

"Do you think that's why she was so concerned that she'd be selfish to become a magical girl, even though we protect people from the wraiths?"

"That really might be a part of it. It sounds nuts, but I think having the strength to help other people is a serious power fantasy of hers."

"You don't sound too sure."

Miki crosses her arms. "I'm not! She can really be a difficult read sometimes, it's like-"

Kyoko jumps the table. Some of her bootlaces are momentarily caught in my hair, and she delivers an inadvertent kick to my head on the way past. Even when my temple strikes the table, I don't think she's noticed.

"Yo, sorry to crash the annual dork convention, but- hey, where's Madoka?"

"In the bathroom," Miki and I reply.

"Damn, did I just miss her?"

"No, she's just taking a while," Miki clarifies.

"Oh sweet! So you guys wouldn't have ordered yet, huh?"

"We're not getting anything. We're just supposed to be meeting up here. Why does everything have to be about food with you?"

"Why don't you try going without for a few weeks when you're thirteen, and then get back to me on that? What have you two been talking about anyway, then?"

I glare at Miki to be silent. Kyoko sees this and infers all she needs to. "Wow! You still haven't asked her out?"

"I don't think I'm ready. I have other, more immediate matters on my mind right now."

Not to mention some more haunting existential questions which are perhaps more the problem of myself in timelines that matter. What piece of nineteenth-century European theater will my (or her) life tragically resemble next? Swan Lake? Peer Gynt? Der Ring des Nibelungen?

Knowing my luck, probably Symphonie fantastique. But fretting over such things will effect no change.

Kyoko stifles a laugh. Miki, meanwhile, jeers: "Whaaat? You? Worried about something? No waaay! Next thing you know, there's- oh, that looks serious."

I dismiss the illusion of health as it is upon my right hand, revealing its true, withered form.

Kyoko whistles exaggeratedly. "How bad is it?"

"My whole body looks much the same. You'll forgive me for hiding that, of course...?"

"When did it start?" Miki tries.

"That's a complicated question."

"You make it sound like you know what's causing it."

"You might say I have a theory. But it's not something that can be explained in a single sitting."

Kyoko weighs in. "I'm guessing healing magic doesn't work?"

"If anything, that makes it worse."

Miki shrugs, as if the conclusion is obvious. "Well, there's your answer!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm no expert, but if I was a doctor, and my patient told me they had a problem, and that magic only made it worse..."

"What kind of doctor knows about maj-" is the full extent of what Kyoko can manage before she finds her housemate's elbow in her side.

"As I was saying! I'd say use magic less often. Didn't you used to pass out during warmup exercises back before we first met?"

"...Where are you going with this?"

"It might be the same principle. I know you take a lot of care of your soul gem, but maybe channeling magic physically is putting too much strain on your body."

"So, you believe I should use magic more sparingly?"

If she's right about this, that would have some ramifications you may find interesting. Let's talk them over later, in private.

"It could be worth trying. How much are you using, anyway?"

I don't answer that question. I simply conceal the degradation of my hand again.

"That bad, huh? Well, I'll be honest with you. You're really one of the strongest people I know. Maybe me suggesting you've gotta change your habits is pretty daunting, but I think you could, if anyone can."

If it's a matter of breaking habits, I'm hopeless. Now, after an eternity of routine, I can't help but size up my closest friends like a butcher to strung-up carcasses. Every time we're sitting still, I catch myself playing over each individual joint of their bodies. Which ones break the most easily, the most cleanly, the most painfully, the most effectively incapacitating. The easiest places to plant a bullet in their skulls. The easiest ways to kill them, either in a hypothetical vacuum, or right here and now. The number of times I have.

Miki (38) catches the blank look in my eye. "Hey, are you okay? Earth to Homura?"

"I'm fine. Excuse me."

"You sure, dude? You don't look too good," opines Kyoko (21).

"As I say, I'm fine. In fact," and I cannot help but smile as I say it, "forget I even said anything."

With a clap of my hands, the pair flinch, and then continue to bicker as if they had been the entire time. It's now, with perfect timing, that Madoka (6) returns to us and assumes her seat next to me.

I smile at her, but I try to avoid looking at her forehead, or neck, or chest, and absolutely not at her soul gem.

"Sorry that took so long. I ran into Kyosuke (1, but it was a good 1. It almost solved more problems than it created, too) while I was coming back."

"What, and he talked long enough to constitute a holdup?"

"He wanted to thank me for helping him get support on his exams, back when we were worried his wrist could stop working again at any moment! But Hitomi (14) was there, and she got the wrong idea..."

Kyoko rests her chin on the table. "Ugh! That is so her. Can she seriously not just mind her own business?"

"I mean I don't really mind. We got everything cleared up in the end."

"But I don't get why you guys hang out with her so much!"

"Here we go," sighs Miki.

"She's such a straight-laced conformist with no sense of style, and whenever she opens her mouth it's like all she ever talks about is boys. It's like there's something wrong with her."

Madoka giggles. "I'm sorry to tell you, but most girls are like her. That's why they call it 'conformist'."

"Well then there's something wrong with most girls, genius!"

I offer my own suggestion: "Personally, I don't think we should be bickering in a fast food establishment where we don't so much as intend to buy anything. Or was I pretentious to assume we were better than that?"

"Yeah, alright," Kyoko huffs, and makes clear her preference to jump back across the table on the way out rather than wait for one of us to move. She heads out, followed by Madoka, followed by myself and Miki, who pulls me aside to whisper:

"Under normal circumstances, I'd wish you luck with her and tell you that I'm glad you came to me for help. But since she's my best friend, instead I'll say,"

The sculpted fish in the mall fountain stop shooting water. A Romantic symphony begins, faintly, to pour from their mouths. She doesn't notice.

"If you ever break her heart, I will personally make your life a nightmare."

The fountain returns to normal.

"A noble cause. And if I may be so frank, the ability to make my life worse would be deserving of congratulations."

Quite despite ourselves, as we hurry to catch up, we find ourselves laughing quietly. Then, with no warning,

"Hey, are we friends or what?"

"I like to think we are."

"Right. I was kinda worried there for a while! I figured you must have something against me, but I guess you just give the cold shoulder to everyone."

"It's not my intention. I prefer to think of myself as the straightforward type."

"I guess I can't argue with that. But if you're gonna be that way, at least stop singling me out by surname. I'm the only person you do that to, it makes you look like you hate my guts or something."

"If you insist..."

She grins at me, expectantly.

I sulk. "...Sayaka."

"Theeere it is! You took your sweet time getting to that one, didn't ya?"

By this point we're already in too close proximity to the others for me to deliver a retort, and slowly, wordlessly, we shuffle ourselves into two new groups of two.

No prizes for guessing what those groups are.

She appears nervous in my presence, won't meet my eye. I can't rule that as a strictly bad sign: loathe though I am to admit it, I'm exactly the same in hers. Nonetheless, I'm not particularly filled with confidence.

"So, er... did you have anything in mind you wanted to buy?"

"Nothing in particular. I'm completely inexperienced at this kind of thing."

"Really? That's a shame. You could be a model or something."

"Could I?"

The thought doesn't sit right with me. If I ever had such childish aspirations, they've been long since abandoned whenever it was I realized that there were no models with misshapen hearts and the ever-present risk of collapsing or passing out in the middle of a photo shoot. There wasn't really much of anyone like that, really.

"Yeah! You've got a mystical charm about yourself, I think."

"Well, I try."

"Really? But you make it look so effortless!"

I can't help but smile. When she's not looking, of course. "And you? Have you had your eye on anything lately?"

The same goes to you. Even though nobody can see you, there's no shame in getting dressed up, is there?

"A few things, I think. I don't know if any of it is going to look any good on me, though!"

"I'm sure it will."

That puts a smile on her face. I seem to have preoccupied her mind in my saying so, however, and while she fumbles with a reply, she trips over herself. It could be that such a chivalrous gesture is too forward, but I stop time to catch her. Yet before I'm in position, something peculiar catches my eye.

We're currently outside an electronics store, with rows of televisions in the front window. All of them are displaying an image of myself from that study session weeks ago, with the teacup ballerina suspended just below my face. And then, despite the singular frozen moment, the displays change.

It doesn't matter what they change to - the fact of the matter is that should be impossible. But the new image is disturbing nonetheless: a black and white video of a woman with no eyes clutching the sun in one hand, and the moon in the other. Each screen shows the image from a different angle, and slowly orbiting her.

What is this? A warning? A threat? To project it in frozen time is by all accounts impossible, but seeing it for myself I know that can't be true. I am sure of one thing, however.

If the image has changed now, of all times, that must mean it's intended for me.

I know I'll gain nothing from dwelling on the matter, so I assume position and catch Madoka as she falls.

As the moment resumes, Kyoko rocks back and forth on her heels and whistles in mock astonishment. "Nice catch! Hey Sayaka, how come you never hold me like that?"

"I'd probably have to wash my hands immediately after."

The two of them proceed, once more, to bicker. Madoka mumbles something to me in the meantime.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, I said thanks, but you can let go of me now."

I-

Oh, I erm...

Right, well,

Let's skip ahead a few minutes, okay?

Wait outside the changing room here. I need someone I can barrage with ideas, without the capacity to communicate that you disagree.

The first order of business is a black and white striped shirt. I'll be out in just a moment.

There. How's that?

No, I don't really like it either. Too tight around the shoulders, and the neck line reveals the top of my scar. Let me try something else.

And while we're here, I've been thinking about the matter of Mi... of Sayaka's hypothesis. About why my body appears the way it does. It brings to mind the Narrator's recount of the rules of enchantment, and how my body is, in a sense, enchanted. The notion that I could be running too much magic through it sounds absurd by that line of reasoning, but at the same time, of course magic has the capacity to do harm. That's how magical girls fight. That's how witches, and now wraiths, kill people. More importantly to me, and interestingly to you, can this power be controlled by a sufficiently disciplined master of magic? And if so, is there a limit to how much magic one girl can control? The Egyptian enchantress Nedjem was supposedly regarded as prolific, and she could forge a blade still worth stealing after millennia. That, then, is the lower bound on our estimates at a maximum.

My situation is different. On one hand, I have the far greater power to reshape the universe as I see fit. On the other hand, well... I have the far greater power to reshape the universe as I see fit.

How about this vest?

Your silence speaks volumes, even when you're capable of nothing else. I could have done well to establish a ground rule of "don't like, don't read" sometime earlier.

A shame. I like to think I could be a vest person. I might look somewhere else at a later date, for something more in my style. And my color, too. I've still got more things to try.

Come to think of it, even deities seem fine operating on their level. In fact, even the Law of Cycles had no issue with her own power, and mine is but a fraction of her own.

(I think that's fair, isn't it? I did help her achieve it in the first place.)

So this would suggest the problem lies with matter. Insubstantial beings are unaffected. Is the Brass Knight unaffected? I'm unsure. I'd like to wait for more information before speculating on its nature.

You've done it. You've actually managed to make me put thought into that ridiculous story. Not that I haven't engaged with others like it in the past, but almost all of them were enjoyable because I was in them. Don't say I never do anything for you.

How about this? I'm aware pink isn't my color, and the irony of the heart isn't lost on me, but Madoka picked it out. Besides, I think there's something wonderfully quaint about a tyrannical, self-indulgent god wearing a shirt with a big, pink heart on it.

You're right, as usual. I only wanted to let her down easy.

The rest of my catalog here is much less radical, so I'll need no further second opinions. Why don't you go find yourself something, in the meantime?

You leave to do just that.

You reconvene with me some fifteen minutes later. I now wear a purple and gray windbreaker and a pair of black jeans. Kyoko now dons a baggy flannel tee, and (regrettably) yet another pair of denim shorts. Sayaka, meanwhile, has taken a liking to a short salmon-pink blazer over some band shirt or other. And you?

Oh, that suits you quite well. I'm glad to be in the company of good tastes.

Madoka steps out of her changing room with a mid-thigh length pink skirt, white knee-high socks, and white sneakers to match.

"Alright, how about this?"

"You look wonder-" I try, but Kyoko inserts: "You look like a tennis player."

"That's unnecessarily harsh."

"I mean that as a compliment. Dudes like sporty women."

"Do they?"

Miki follows Kyoko's lead without missing a beat. "Not really, but that fact is just a symptom of these degenerate times. Men should value the strong women in their lives more."

"Hear, hear!" Kyoko concurs.

"I don't think you look like a tennis-"

Kyoko holds a coat hanger out like a microphone. "Over here, we have the rising star Madoka Kaname, aged just fifteen. Ms. Kaname, any comment on your defeat today against the United States's own Venus Williams?"

"That's a little pessimistic, isn't it?" I shrug.

"Be realistic! There's no way she's gonna beat Venus Williams!"

"I don't see why that-"

Now it's Madoka's turn to cut me off. "I just wanted to say Ms. Williams's energy on the court today was unmatched. I've always been a big fan of hers. I think she's proving that women can do anything we put our minds to, and even though it's a little sad to know that I'll be going home now, I'll still be cheering for her in the finals!"

I don't remember moments like this from before.

Don't ask me before what. You know what.

I don't remember moments where we'd waste formerly precious days coordinating a group outing, precious hours ambling around a mall, precious minutes sizing up one another's tastes in fashion, precious seconds cracking insubstantial jokes at ourselves.

Have you ever been to the beach and had the tide roll up to your ankles, and for a second it's painfully, obnoxiously cold, but the moment it rolls out you want it to happen again? I haven't, or at least if I did, I was too young to remember, but this is what I imagine it feels like. I concede my antagonism; Kyoko's joviality has won out.

"Well, you may have lost, but to make it so far in an international tournament is worth celebration nonetheless. Let me buy us all a victory lunch."

For four. You're going to have to manage yourself.