Across the broadest stretches of the multiverse, in a world very much like this one, there is a city overrun by strange, tropical vines and lichens. A young woman stumbles, awkwardly, through shattered glass walkways, now open to the rain.

A flash of lightning illuminates her short black curls from behind, but nobody is around to see it.

The place would once have been called Singapore. The year would once have been called 300,000 C.E. In this world, she is the last person left in the cosmos. Today is the day she dies.

With every cause, with every belief, there come systems of pride and honor. To her, there is nothing and nobody to whom she might flaunt any zealotry; her esteem is only the mark of her internal, private ceremonies. She raises her soul gem, now ink-black and nebulous, and bears her silver cloak for the final time. And then, with no more to give, she lays down to die.

A great column of light opens before her. From it descends a shining white gown, with equally bright ribbons and wings brighter yet. The absence of the figure who would wear them gives the ensemble a ghostly look when it extends its hand out to her, and without thinking, she takes it.

She turns at the last moment to catch a glimpse of myself across the hall, before her form disintegrates in the light. If the Law of Cycles recognizes my presence, however, it does not react. It has no mind, no soul, animated only by the will of a girl who is no longer a part of it. It still is her, in a sense, but not "her", the person. When I say it is her, I mean much in the sense that a singer might say they poured their heart and soul into a song.

My wish to meet her, time and again, and watch over her, had never expired. Should anyone try to usurp the Law as I had, I stand ready to strike them down. This devotion can only ever be one-to-one, and until the time comes, and I find a new use for this part of her, she belongs to me.

Satisfied, this aspect of mine disappears back into the ether of my infinitely-faceted existence, perhaps to venture to another place, time, and world to repeat her guardianship.

How's that?

Well of course it's melodramatic. That's the point. But after this chapter, I'll be taking my leave, and I only want to ensure that, as I'm about to end on a much more domestic note, you don't forget just the degree of power I've held here.

I have no more theories to offer you, but what may be a crucial piece of advice if you stay around until the end of the show. For now, though, try to keep the dolls entertained for long enough that I might get dressed without them wreaking havoc.

Oh, didn't I tell you?

I've a date tonight.

I know! How do you think I felt?

Alright, but I'm in no fit position to explain right now. Let me write it all down for you, let's say... around midday. Five and a half hours afore now. Then I will leave it under your couch cushion, that you might retrieve it and read it now. But put the cushion back just as you'd left it. She could be here at any moment and not a single thing can be out of place.

The note reads as follows:

Early last week, as we are wont to do with scattershot regularity, Madoka and myself share in a scant few hours of one another's company at her house. We reserve these times for the absence of everyone else, with her mother at work (the easy part, what with how ruthless her office hours are), and her father taking Tatsuya someplace or other (significantly less frequent, although it does happen from time to time. It would be nice to reintroduce you to Tatsuya, I'm sure - he developed hints of an American accent while overseas and if I may be so frank, it's adorable - but given the events of past worlds, I wouldn't be surprised if he could see you, just as easily as he could see... well, I'm getting rather sidetracked).

We reserve these moments only for one another's company because, strictly speaking, it's not something we're allowed to do. You see, during their time abroad, her parents had amassed a considerable film collection, and Madoka (of all people!) is strangely eager to watch through all the dramatic action films she can find.

Oh, believe me. I didn't understand it either. Until, of course, this particular day. I'm not sure what it was we were watching; ashamed though I am to admit it, I was scarcely paying any attention to the television whatsoever. I find it... difficult... when she sits so close to me. Especially when she clings to my arm nervously during the more violent scenes.

Then a look of concern passed over her face. She said, not so loud as to detract from the film: "...Something's wrong."

The living room light flickered, and returned blood-red. On the wall there stood the shadow of a girl ripping her head off of her neck. Then, like a shotput, she threw it at the light where it burst like wood upon a bonfire. The red light intensified enough to make apparent the shadow of an identical child doing the same thing, and then another, and then another, until the walls were beginning to go dark with flying heads, and they kept coming.

"Wait!" exclaimed Madoka, at which point the light returned to normal.

"What is it?!"

"I forgot to put the subtitles on, hehehe. I guess I got used to not needing them, I didn't even consider..."

Am I the only person who sees these things?

This occurring has no bearing on the significance of this anecdote, but I wanted to complain about it to someone nonetheless. I digress.

"I should have said something," I confessed.

"Oh, I didn't make you too uncomfortable to ask or anything, did I?"

"Not at all. Sometimes," and I couldn't help but enunciate this in as intimate a manner as possible whilst maintaining a veneer of plausible deniability, "I have trouble finding the words to tell other people even very pressing things."

"Gosh, me too. It's really starting to get in the way of... of stuff."

She looked away from me. Her face tensed and went bright red. I wondered if that were a good sign. In retrospect, I can't see it being a bad one if she'd invited me to her house of her own volition.

I changed the subject. "It's a fairly good film thus far, from what little I've understood."

"Really? I think it's kinda heavy."

"I thought you loved this kind of thing, given your insistence on watching films like it."

"I-I was only doing th-this because I thought you would like them! D-don't you?"

"Well, by no means do I particularly dislike them. What had I said to make you think I was a fan, though?"

"Nothing, I just thought you... seemed... like the action... hero..." she yelps in the smallest voice I have ever heard, "type...!"

"Is something the matter?"

"I... I have to go," is all she spluttered before hurrying into another room.

My goodness. She hadn't even paused the film.

Now you might think me foolish for not taking that as a sign of mutual attraction at that time. Maybe I was/am/would be/would have to have soon been/whatever other tenses relate me as I am across all edges of reality to that single point in time. But consider that I was well aware that if anyone did make her uncomfortable enough to leave a room like that, it would very much have been me. Again, the fact that she invited me in the first place is something that had only occurred to me post-pre-ante-retro-spectively. Which is to say the aspects of me which had understood this were not the aspect presently in that moment.

I've not apologized enough for my habit of becoming sidetracked. It's a consequence of my ability to think nonlinearly, and one terribly difficult to translate to words without these tremendous digressions.

I waited about half a minute before following her to her bedroom. I found her sat on her bed, looking at her phone. I presume messaging someone about what had just occurred. I presume Sayaka.

"Ahh! Shouldn't you at least knock, first?"

"I thought I'd save you the trouble of thinking up an excuse for why you left so suddenly when you came back."

"Thanks... I think?"

"You wanted to talk to me about something?"

"What? What makes you think that?"

"Because I want to talk about it too."

She winced to hear that.

"May I take a seat?"

She didn't answer, but she didn't object when I did so anyway.

I said, "I can't tell if there's something I've done for which you're avoiding me."

"No, there's nothing."

"So, you're keeping your distance, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Well, um, when you put it like that...!"

"I think we're both misunderstanding something. You wanted me here, but you left mid-conversation. I don't care for the film, that is to say, I'm here for your company. What's going on?"

She wore a look of guilt towards the end of my saying so, which is why I stopped when I did.

"If I explained it, you'd just laugh..."

I waited for her to meet my eye before answering. "My respect for you is unwavering. There is nothing you could possibly tell me which I would find deserving of mockery."

"Well, in that case."

"Yes?"

"See, it's like..."

"Go on."

She paused, then sidetracked, "You said you also wanted to talk about this? What is it that you wanted to say?"

I've said it to her many times before. It would have come so easily, but every time I'd told her, I'd annihilated the entire timeline out of anger so that I wouldn't have to hang around for what I presumed would be a rejection. I didn't want the same fate to befall this one, not now. "Now that it's come to this, it suddenly feels much harder to say."

"I know what you mean."

"I take it you're not going to be the first to say it, no matter what I tell you?"

"I'm sorry. I just don't want to say it."

"Ever?"

She nodded.

"I see," I nodded back, and leaned my head on her shoulder.

"I understand," I continued, and put my arms around her.

And finally, "I love you."

I wasn't sure if there would ever feel like a right time. I've played through millions of years' worth of possible conversations, and never had there ever seemed the perfect opportunity to tell her that much. But even the scale of that hardly compared to every simulation of this confession I'd imagined, and yet none of them had predicted her response. In the moment, I remember wishing that she had rejected me instead: it would have certainly hurt less.

She hadn't moved at all from the tense sulk I found her in when I entered the room by the time she told me, "You deserve better than me."

"There's no such thing." I shouldn't have tightened my embrace at that moment, but I did. When I feel her flinch, I ask, "I'm sorry, would you like me to let go?"

"No... but you probably should."

If she insists.

"What makes you think you aren't good enough for me?"

She told me a secret. I nodded, but assured her I didn't care. She told me another, I told her the same. And again. And again. She told me more than she probably meant to, just to try to evoke a reaction, but my answer stayed the same. I have to wonder - does she think not another soul on this Earth is still disarmed by childhood fears? That nobody else indulges in guilty pleasures? That everyone around her is a reflection of a self-image she can never reach?

"I don't care about any of this. It's all so beautifully mundane, so human... and if all of these are simple facts about the girl I love, then I love them too."

Side note - Harmless and inconsequential though they are, she had told me these things in confidence. Everyone has their secrets, and she was merely too concerned about her own to understand that.

"You say that like you're not. Human, I mean."

"You might say I have something I've kept from everyone. Something I consider quite shameful."

"But you look so-"

I don't need to describe to you the way I truly look again. By this point, I was scarcely looking any better.

So many things crossed over her face. Disgust, then pity, then awe, then fear. She jumped back.

"What... what are you?!"

"It's still me."

"That's impossible..."

"I'm sorry."

"What did this to you?"

I laughed just a bit, to hold back tears. "Power, and too much of it. Power I didn't even want. All I wanted was..."

Now it was her turn to hold me. This is all I had wanted, and I needn't even say as much.

"Should I leave?"

"Please don't." She clenches me tighter.

"Why not?"

"I haven't said it back yet."

"Said what back?"

Of course, I didn't even need to ask.

You've read all that? Wonderful. She should be here any moment. Hide the note again. If she knew I had told you all that, even the fact that she can't kill me seems terribly cold a comfort.

I'm sure you wouldn't mind helping yourself to dinner in whatever higher reality you call home? I've only cooked for two - half in doubt that the abstraction of words on a page would offer you much sustenance, half in that I dread to imagine trying to explain to her who's to be eating from the third plate.

Come to think of it, whatever fraction you might spare that I don't want you to judge my cooking, either. This is my first time grilling anything on my own in this timeline, and although my immense intellect understands the process on the most atomic level, this particular body has yet to develop the muscle memory.

Ah! That should be her right now. I'll have you in the kitchen; my familiars know their bedtime, but there are occasions where small groups will emerge from their rooms for a late-night snack. I pray only peace comes to you, for nobody needs suffer to see the utter chaos and desolation these moments bring to my kitchen. But I'm proud of tonight's dinner, and it is imperative that someone keeps the dolls from touching the leftovers.

But quickly - how do I look? I've never worn my hair in a bun before. Is it too much?

Never mind, I can't change it now. Hurry along to the kitchen. Meanwhile, I move to the vestibule, from where you hear the distant sounds of greeting. After a few seconds, approaching footsteps. Fret not, it's only me. Find something in which to put this bouquet - I know! I told her she needn't bring anything - and if one of the girls decides it looks appetizing...

I hand you a revolver, and carry two dinner plates out of the room. Once you have taken to your station, you may stand by and regard our conversation.

Or at least, you might if we were having any. It appears we have both taken to eating in silence. What is there to say, after all, that neither of us would feel too ashamed to breach first?

I clear my throat and lean in to break the ice. You might like this. "There's a question I read somewhere, some weeks ago. A philosophical question lost on me, but I feel you might enjoy it."

"Oh?"

"I believe it's a question one must approach from a creative and empathetic mindset, which would make you the perfect candidate to try at it."

"Ehehe, you flatter me!"

"Would you like to hear it?"

"Sure."

"Suppose there was a society of aliens, far more populous than humans, living richer lives, with no war or conflict, with all of their needs met, with only two catches. The first is that they feel no emotion whatsoever. No pity, no sympathy, none. The second is that their longevity and their prosperity is owed to the torture of humanity for as long as humanity has existed, and for as long as it would exist."

She appears unsettled by the mental image. Somewhat ironic, wouldn't you say?

"The question, then, is this: what would you say to persuade them that humanity is worth protecting?"

What? I don't mean to outsource the talents of our book club - I just thought a true genius on the matter of morality and justice (even if she has no memory of the time her wit rid the world of witches) might help solve the Crawford Problem.

"Hmmm."

"Yes?"

"I don't know, this is a hard one! But I feel like the answer has to be in something that the humans can only offer the aliens when they're not suffering. The aliens can't get their fulfillment from anything except the humans, right?"

"I presume not."

"In that case, there would have to be something they mutually find more valuable. But if the aliens haven't figured it out, I guess it would have to be something you can only intuit emotionally?"

"And what would that be?"

"I don't know... enlightenment?"

"Enlightenment," I repeat.

"Well, um..."

"What kind of enlightenment?"

"I don't know! I'm just guessing at this point. Do you know the answer?"

"I regret I do not."

"It's a good question, though! Where did you read it?"

"Oh, some website or other."

She nods. The silence returns for what I measure as eleven point eight five seconds.

"So, what is this?" I ask.

"I thought you said you cooked it."

"I don't mean the food. I mean us. What are we supposed to be, lovers?"

"I mean, only if you want. You know you'd probably get weird looks if we went out, right?"

"Nothing I'm not used to. Back when my heart was more... troublesome, I was a wheelchair user."

She stops eating. "Really?"

"Yes. I could walk, mind you, but rarely without difficulty. At any rate, you get odd looks when you use a chair, and of the two, I'd prefer the odd look of being with another woman."

"Oh... I'm sorry, I had no idea. Why have I never seen you in one, though?"

Cut.

A young woman sits uncomfortably at the dinner table in her family's new apartment. Her father places a bowl of soup in front of her and sits before his own. She expresses gratitude too meekly to be heard. He understands. You can picture him as a vaguely human-shaped sketch without a face. I do.

"Wheel your chair in a bit," her mother urges before the girl can pick up her spoon. She takes a moment to adjust herself and do just that. You can picture her mother much the same.

The room is uncomfortably quiet. The only sounds are the muted clinks of spoon on bowl and gentle creak of floor beneath wheel. She pauses before allowing herself a spoonful of soup. It beats hospital food, she decides, but...

"This soup is cold," she mumbles.

Her father replies, "It's gazpacho. It's meant to be served cold. Take it up with the Spanish, if you'd like."

His wife shoots him an uneasy look, and he follows up with a forced chuckle, to assure his daughter that he speaks in jest.

"Sorry," is all she says, and all she says for a while.

Her mother takes it upon herself to speak up next. "So, Homura, what do you think of Mitakihara?"

"It's nice...?" she tries.

"Anything in particular?"

"I don't know. It's less busy than Tokyo."

"Not like that's hard," her father jokes.

"This apartment is nice, too. It's a shame we probably won't be here very long."

Another pause. The ever-present concern of her health looms.

"I think I want to go to school without my chair."

"Why would you want that?"

"Everyone sees the chair before they see the person. I think that's why nobody talks to me."

"But isn't it terribly painful, walking without it?" her mother implores.

"So is living," she shrugs, letting the implicit "but you won't let me stop" of past arguments settle over the table. They misconstrue it as well-founded thanatophobia, pushing the harsh reality of their daughter's wishful thinking from their minds.

You can probably tell why I don't live with them.

And action.

I smile at her. It's not slight enough to be dismissive, nor intense to appear forced, is it? No? Very well. "My only reservation - and this had stopped me from inviting you to dinner sooner - is that if we were to become something more than what we are, we would have to give up our friendship. It should be a small price to pay, but I've never had another friend like you. You have to understand how much that means to me if it makes this decision as difficult as it does."

"I see."

That's all she says, and then she goes terribly quiet, before continuing: "We can be friends and in love at the same time, can't we?"

"You're not afraid something going awry in one relationship could jeopardize them both?"

She shakes her head. "We can fight terrifying monsters with magic, can't we? Even in the worst case, what's a little relationship drama compared to that?"

She makes it sound so much easier than it is.

Or perhaps she's right? Isn't this the reason for my initial infatuation with her? That she finds me more capable than I find myself, that she gives me something to believe, to prove?

I don't know, I-

My goodness.

My goodness, I think I have a girlfriend now.

"That's a fair point."

"In fact, I was already thinking about inviting you for dinner to meet my parents. If that's alright, of course."

I grimace. "Of course! That would be a delight."

Her parents are wonderful, of course. The questions they ask me, while I suppose they are inevitable now...

Please, keep your eyes on the dolls.

"Are those gunshots?!" she gasps.

"No, the radiator makes those sounds on occasion."

"It's terrifying."

"You become accustomed to them soon enough."

Please, try better to disguise the sound. Dispose of them as you see fit, and don't worry - as long as they remain an aspect of me, they return to life soon enough (much to my chagrin).

Done?

In that case, I believe you've outlived your usefulness. I was going to cultivate this timeline with or without your help, and now I've done exactly that. And, as promised, I've offered a demon's insight into another demon's puzzle, thus it is time for our ways to part.

Well, this has been... would you believe I was about to call it a pleasant exchange? An interesting exchange nonetheless, certainly: I read a story from your world, and you one from mine. Catching up, at least, was pleasant. Perhaps we should meet again sometime? If it's all the same to you, though, I'd quite like to do so hidden in the back of a far more competently constructed, far less manic tale than the one you're surely about to re-embark on. I don't know why you try to understand it, I really don't.

And another thing. I'd promised you a word of advice, perhaps useful in the world you'll soon return to. That which compels me to believe that perhaps our reunion here of all places was not mere chance. That into which I offered you a view these past few weeks, so that you might understand:

You cannot kill a demon. But if you ever need to neutralize one, it may just be possible to change her mind.

Farewell now. And Happy New Year.

(Well, I hope you've all enjoyed these past four chapters (statistics seem to imply people very much have, which I find flattering). Next Saturday marks the first anniversary of PFDM, and to mark the occasion, we're going to be kicking off part 2 as well as have a bunch of other bits and pieces up over on the blog. See you then!)