As she lays flowers at Sayaka's grave, Homura remembers the flower fields. She remembers the smell of the grass, and the faint trickling of the mountain stream. They come with absolute clarity to her, but she can only see the background. No one seems to be there.
I can't even bring back Madoka's face immediately anymore, she thought, despairing. And she starts to reconstruct it, bit by bit. The hair ribbons, neatly tied- Madoka said they would bring her memory, and hope. Her pink hair, so soft to Homura's touch. Madoka had worn a beautiful light blue necktie that day, and as she moved her head to talk, the lower half of her face would dip gently into the linen.
Sometimes she skipped ahead in little hops and leaps, and Homura skipped too, to catch up with her. At that time, they still walked side by side.
Homura counts the time it takes for her to remember. In the initial days after her love's ascension, Madoka's face was always present in her mind. Now, five years later, it takes her 3 minutes at least. Each time the memory comes back, it hits Homura, as if saying, "She isn't here. Think about why she isn't here. It's you, it's all your fault, you worthless miserable coward." She doesn't know what to say to that.
And later 3 minutes will turn into 30 minutes, then hours. Someday all the memory will wash away, but the guilt will stay.
Sometimes Homura thinks about finding photos, anything that could still tether down what she thinks she recalls. But where would one find physical evidence for someone who was erased from the world? Where is the anchor?
Ironically enough they'd been talking about memory, too, in the flower fields. And everything had been going well in that timeline. Homura had entered an alliance with Mami, and they were training Sayaka too. Madoka had taken a liking to her.
"You know, Homura," Madoka looked straight at her. "I keep thinking, somehow, that something bad is going to happen soon. I don't know how I know this, or why. But I think that you'll go somewhere far away sometime soon, and I won't see you again.
Sometimes I feel like I know for certain what will happen, but it just remains there, stuck, like it's at the tip of my tongue." She smiled a little ."And there's the other thing, too. This feeling- I suppose you could describe it as deja vu? You're special to me, in some undefinable way. I feel at peace by your side, even though we've barely known each other. I can't remember why. When you are with me, I feel like nothing evil will ever happen to me. So please, stay with me, Homura."
Homura did not have the heart to wipe that wonderful smile off her face. And so she held Madoka and pledged to watch over her for all time. She lied, her tongue heavy, that everything was as it should be.
Madoka had peered into her eyes, then, for quite a long time. Then she raised herself and touched her cheek to Homura's. Even now, Homura still remembers the wonderful warmth in that gesture.
That night, Homura went home and prayed for the first time in years. "Please, God. She's the only happiness I found in this life. Do what You will with me; I can even become a monster. None of my suffering would matter, if You would preserve her, make her happy, let her live."
Homura's prayer was probably never heard. In that timeline, Sayaka fell into despair once again, and Mami practically went mad at the revelation. As selflessly as always, Madoka contracted to fight Walpurgisnacht by Homura's side. Madoka fought valiantly and she fought nobly, and she failed. Despair clouded her soul gem, and Homura had to mercy kill her. Again. Such a curious word, "mercy kill". Mercy for the killed but no mercy for the killer.
And so the time traveler rewound her shield, again, and again, and again, and again, and again. Until Madoka made her wish of salvation, and consigned herself to a fate worse than death. It also consigned Homura to almost permanent mourning. Mourning is always easier, she thinks, when there are people to smile in reminiscence with you and celebrate the life of those who aren't here anymore. People to affirm that Madoka was there and she existed. But there is no one else, and she is desperately alone as the memories wither slowly within herself, even as she struggles to hold onto them.
That's why Homura makes yearly pilgrimages to Sayaka's tomb, because this is the closest memorial to Madoka's she can get. And she talks to them both, and hopes they listen. She decides to bring roses for Madoka, as always, and sakura for Sayaka.
She senses a movement behind her, and she catches the object thrown by instinct. It's a pocky stick.
"Want one?"
