A/N: Finally.

Sorry about the formatting-each section was supposed to be split into three distinct parts, but italicizing was the only way I could do that. This site really doesn't allow for much in the way of creative formatting.

Homura never slept peacefully. Though she may have been still and her expression as blank as always, every night her mind was rocked by terrible memories from the countless timelines, often twisted to be worse than they actually were.

She never woke slowly, either. When her sleep finally ended, she was awake and alert in an instant, several lifetimes of experience fighting Witches and now Wraiths sharpening her instinct for self-preservation until she was in a perpetual state of alertness.

And, for as long as she could remember, the first thing she would do upon waking was reach for the other side of her bed. She did it before she could remind herself that it was pointless, that there was no one there. Every time, her hand would settle on cold sheets.

It never hurt any less.

Her eyes were open in an instant, but her senses failed to comprehend her surroundings. This wasn't her bed. She wasn't in her room. Her breaths came in sharp gasps as the lingering panic from her nightmare threatened to take over and her mind struggled to sort out what was real and what wasn't.

Something shifted in the dark next to her and her heart stopped. Cautiously, fearfully, she reached through the darkness to find out what it was.

Her hand fell on a gently stirring form, and, like the key piece of a puzzle falling into place and giving the rest context, she was finally able to start making sense of the situation. The haze cleared enough for her to remember where she was and why she was here. The lingering terror from the nightmares faded—she drew strength from the presence of the girl sleeping next to her. Thankful that her panicked awakening hadn't disturbed Madoka's sleep, Homura carefully groped through the dark for the nightstand where her glasses lay. Madoka's face came into focus and she felt her heart skip as she beheld the innocence in her expression; her lips just barely parted, her hair out of its usual pigtails, she looked sweeter than ever.

Homura returned her glasses to the bedside table, shifted closer to her love and carefully squeezed an arm between the mattress and the sleeping girl, holding Madoka against her in a tender embrace.

Now, if she woke again, the simple knowledge of Madoka's presence would assure her that she was safe.

There were plenty of timelines in which they didn't share a bed—most of them, actually—but it wasn't until after Madoka's final wish that this behavior had begun. It was as if her own traitorous subconscious started seeking out Madoka's presence specifically because it knew she wouldn't be there. But she didn't have to go far to find a tangible reminder of Madoka's existence, an anchor that kept her from breaking. The second thing she'd do every morning, just as the disappointment threatened to crush her after she found that Madoka was not there, was open her bedside drawer and take out the red ribbon that she carefully placed there. Just holding it brought a sense of relief.

But this was only the beginning of her troubles each day. Everything, everywhere was a reminder of her lost love. The memories came unbidden, at least not warped like they were in her dreams, but just as relentless. Her years of living through the same month over and over with only one goal in mind had taught her how to focus past distractions. She could push these memories away. She did if they came during a fight, lest they cause a fatal slip. But she didn't always shut out those thoughts. The happy memories, and there were many, hurt just as much as the memories of her many failures, but those she allowed to linger. A small smile would touch her lips at times as she recalled particular memories. Sometimes a blush or chuckle would accompany it, prompting teasing or confusion if she was around the other magical girls. She endured it without giving anything away.

These memories belonged to her alone.

She tried to keep the resentment she felt towards Kyoko and Sayaka hidden, and regretted that she was only partially successful. She knew it was petty and unfair to them, and, as they represented two thirds of all of her friends in the world, she really shouldn't drive them away, but it was so hard to watch them hanging off each other and giggling, sneaking quick kisses when they thought no one was watching, see the tender expressions on their faces when they were absorbed in each other to the exclusion of everything around them. It was hard to see these things and not feel jealous, not resent them for having what she was denied.

The gentle sigh brought Homura back to her senses. She hastily dropped her gaze back to the book on the table as if to show that she was, of course, reading, then adjusted her glasses and turned to meet the stare of her senior.

"Yes?"

Mami beamed her radiant smile at Homura, though the timid girl personally thought her perpetually half-lidded eyes made her look like she wasn't all there. "Sorry, Homura. I didn't mean to disturb you. I just thought it was sweet."

Homura could feel her cheeks starting to heat up and fought against it. She didn't want to give Mami any incentive to probe further. "I-I don't know what…we should really be studying," she offered in a feeble attempt to end the conversation.

Mami wasn't dissuaded. "You don't need to hide it from me, Homura. I've seen the way the two of you look at each other. The way you were looking at her now." She raised her hands in a placating gesture as Homura's blush came out in full force and she seemed to shrink into herself. "I don't mean to pry. I just think it's wonderful that the two of you have found happiness together. There is often so little of it in our line of work," she added with a touch of sadness darkening her smile.

Her stomach twisted itself into a cold knot as Mami's words dug deep into her heart. Mami undoubtedly saw her expression fall, because her smile was replaced by a look of concern just as quickly. "It's not like that," Homura murmured, any will to have denied what she felt for Madoka crumbling. "We're friends. She's…she's my best friend."

Mami hesitated, uncharacteristically at a loss for what to say, no doubt bewildered and wondering how she could have misjudged the situation so badly. She patted Homura gently on the shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said genuinely. "I shouldn't have brought it up. All I've done is make you uncomfortable." She stood to go, and Homura couldn't deny that she felt a sense of relief.

"It's fine. You didn't do anything wrong." Homura collected herself and forced a smile. "I'll talk to you later, Mami."

She felt another person sit next to her and inwardly winced. As if this couldn't get worse…

"I saw Mami talking to you. She looked bothered. Is everything all right?" Madoka asked.

Homura nodded, forced smile still fixed in place. "Yes, of course. I, um…I forgot to ask Mami something, Madoka. I'll talk to you later."

Leaving a confused Madoka behind her, she hurried out of the study hall and after the senior. At first she just wanted to be away from Madoka, after Mami unknowingly ripped open that wound, but something the blonde had said rattled in her brain, and it wasn't long before she had caught up to her.

"Mami, wait!" Homura winced inwardly at the demanding tone in her voice that bordered on desperation. "P-Please!" she hastily added.

The drill-haired girl turned to her shy friend with a smile that was still apologetic. "Yes, Homura?" She waited patiently while the flustered girl collected her thoughts and worked up the nerve to start talking.

It turned out that it actually took a lot of nerve to finally be open with someone about her feelings with Madoka. But if it ruined everything, she could always wait out this timeline and start over. "You said that you saw the way Madoka and I look at each other…what do you mean? How does she look at me?" She was chagrined that she couldn't keep the desperation out of her voice.

She could see Mami considering her words carefully, having already spoken carelessly just a few minutes before. "Well…I don't want to give you the wrong impression, Homura. I could be wrong," she cautioned. "After all, I was already… Well, sometimes when she's looking at you and you don't see her, she gets a look of such tenderness on her face, and I feel confident that she would do anything to protect you." Mami bowed her head, a little less composed than usual. "It's very much like the expression you have when you're looking at her and her attention is elsewhere."

"Do you…do you think she really does like me? I mean…" Homura had to stop for a moment and try to swallow the lump forming in her throat. "I'm no one special."

Mami laughed at that—not a harsh, mocking laugh, but a gentle mirth that soon had Homura smiling softly. "I'm sorry, Homura. It's just that when I first approached Madoka and said that she would make a fine Magical Girl, she said very nearly the same thing." She put her hand lightly on her junior's shoulder, and this time felt much more reassuring than when she had done the same in the study hall. "It doesn't matter whether or not I think you're special, or even whether you think so. It matters that Madoka thinks you are."

Homura felt her face growing hot at the same moment that she felt an unpleasant tightening in her stomach. "But…how—?"

"How do I know?" Mami cut in. Homura nodded. "The truth is that I don't, Homura. I told you that I didn't want to give you the wrong impression, that I could be wrong. But there is one thing of which I am certain. I'm not the one that you should be having this conversation with."

"Something wrong?"

Homura blinked. The three of them were in public, walking to a restaurant where they were to meet Mami and casually chatting, and only now did she realize that she had been staring at the girls with a dour expression. "No, nothing," Yes. Many things. And not a single one that she could explain to the others.

Kyoko looked back at Sayaka, who was watching them with a quizzical frown. The redhead grinned at her and waved her off. "Go on, we'll be right there." Sayaka looked uneasy but continued walking without argument. "Come on. We're taking a walk," she said to Homura in a voice that brooked no argument. Her body language told Homura that if she didn't head this off quickly, it could turn ugly.

As they walked, Homura turned over different words in her mind, thinking of how best to handle this situation. She knew what the conversation was going to be about and she knew what she would have to do to keep things peaceful. She had been watching them lately, it was true. What Mami had once sensed in her and Madoka, she could see clearly between Kyoko and Sayaka now.

And it stung. She almost wanted to confide in Mami, to have a senior to go to for advice and comfort like in the old days, but it was futile. No one could help her with this, and Mami wasn't her senior anymore. All it would do would be to force part of her burden onto someone who wouldn't be able to handle the implications of what she was saying—Homura remember only too vividly how Mami had reacted upon learning the truth about Witches.

Once they were away from the crowds of people on the sidewalks, Kyoko rounded on her and approached the matter with her usual directness. "I've seen the way you keep looking at us. If you have a problem with me and Sayaka—"

Homura felt the corner of her mouth twitch in spite of herself. The number of timelines in which she had seen those two at each other's throats, sometimes ending in bloodshed, and now here Kyoko was, ready to fight over a perceived slight against their relationship.

"No, Kyoko," she cut in, her voice as flat and lifeless as ever, "I don't have a problem with—"

"Cut the bullshit, Akemi. I'm not as stupid as you think I am. You got something to say, spit it out. If you can't say it to my face, then fuck off and leave me and Sayaka alone."

She inwardly sighed. Never mind, this was nothing like when Mami had approached her about Madoka. Kyoko's attitude didn't really bother her, but she had to calm her down before things got ugly. She had no doubt that if Kyoko felt sufficiently insulted she would swap words for her fists. The redhead may be rough on the exterior, but she really was much sharper than she let on most of the time—sharp enough, at least, to see through some of the mask that Homura wore.

She almost told her right then…there it was, an invitation to share her burden, even if Kyoko had no idea that that's what she was demanding. Homura almost cracked. Someone to confide in…

"You misunderstand, Kyoko. I don't have a problem with your relationship with Sayaka," she said again. "I think it is good that the two of you have found happiness together. There is often very little of it in our line of work." She twitched involuntarily; Mami's words had come unbidden and unwelcome. But they had served their purpose; Kyoko's anger was blunted, though there was still a heavy air of suspicion about her.

Now Homura hesitated. She wasn't sure how to convince Kyoko that she was being honest. As she cast about for something to say, and as she had been so close to confiding in Kyoko, words that she had never intended to say came to her lips. "Seeing the two of you together brings back memories." Homura cursed herself for that slip, and noticed with a trace of irritation that Kyoko had suddenly become very attentive, no doubt hoping to learn something about her at last. That, more than anything else, convinced her that now was not the time to discuss her past. Her ordeals were not a curiosity for the entertainment of others. There would be a time when she would finally explain everything to the others, but now was not that time. She had already said more than she wanted to, and was quickly finding this situation intolerable.

"That's all there is for me to say," she stated coolly as she turned to go. "Believe me or don't."

"Hang on, I—"

The trace of guilt in her voice stopped Homura. She looked back at the redhead and felt some measure of gratification to see discomfort on her face. Homura softened a little. "Look after her, Kyoko. She needs you even more than you need her…and I hope you never find out what it's like to lose what you have." She left on those words, leaving Kyoko looking surprised and a little worried.

After making the promise to prevent Madoka from Contracting, Homura had quickly come to realize something: the self confidence and unbreakable will that Madoka practically radiated, part of what had drawn Homura to her in the first place, were dependent on her status as a Puella Magi. As a regular girl, Madoka felt only doubt and helplessness, possessing none of the steel of the girl who had saved Homura so long ago. Homura would barely even admit it to herself, but she had missed that strong Madoka.

She did not, however, love her any less. Nor had she countenanced for an instant the idea that she should let Madoka become a Puella Magi so that she would see that calm, self assured girl again. Her wish, after all, had been to be the one that protected.

But there had been things she missed about her love. That confidence had been intoxicating. She had been in awe of Madoka. And there were some things, far more personal, that were tied to that aspect of Madoka.

"Is something wrong, Homura?"

The girl was so deep in her thoughts that the unexpected intrusion made her jump, and then blush at her own reaction. They had been walking in silence for quite some time, Sayaka having left to visit that boy at the hospital, Mami having split off to head home earlier in the walk, and Kyoko being absent thus far from this timeline; Homura hadn't realized that they were almost at the point where she and Madoka would part ways, too. Her mind had been preoccupied by what Mami had told her the other day. And Madoka was looking at her, waiting for an answer, concern written all over her features. It made her blush even harder. She must have looked foolish, staring silently at the ground while they walked for blocks.

Aware that her red face would only deepen Madoka's suspicions, whatever they might be, Homura hurried to reply. "No, it's—I'm fine, I just…was thinking," she finished weakly. For the several hundredth time, she wished that she could turn back time in small increments. When she chanced a glance over at the pink haired girl, she saw only a gentle smile on her face. Of course. She was stupid to think that Madoka would laugh or mock her. She was so kind, and wonderful, and…

And Homura didn't deserve her.

She had failed so many times already. Madoka was always there for her, always watching out for her and never criticizing her for her shortcomings, and all Homura had done was mess up over and over, and Madoka had paid for it so many times…

The tears stung her eyes, and she wished she could crawl under something and disappear. She had really done it now; instead of saying something to allay Madoka's concern, she had started crying in front of her.

Homura started again when she was pulled into a strong embrace by deceptively slender arms. "It's okay, Homura. I'm here for you," the wonderful, beautiful girl whispered into her ear while she held her, and it was all Homura could do to keep from breaking down into deep, wracking sobs. "You don't have to tell me what's wrong if you don't want to," Madoka said quietly, not relaxing her embrace for a moment. "We can just…stay like this as long as you need."

That could be a while, she thought bitterly. The mental image of the two of them standing like this for hours, the sun setting and then rising again, other students walking past them to go to school, while Homura tried in vain to collect herself brought unexpected laughter to her lips. First a weak chuckle, then a stronger laugh, then, before she knew it, she was gasping for air as she laughed hysterically into Madoka's shoulder.

When she had gathered her wits about her enough to talk again, Homura found that she was too drained to care about how embarrassed she should be from this. If Madoka wanted to stay the hell away from this crazy girl now, well, what was one more reset? She smiled weakly at the pinkette and received a thoroughly bemused smile in return.

"I'm s-sorry," she mumbled, taking off her glasses so that she could wipe at her eyes. "I can't really explain w-what that was about."

Madoka put her hands gently on Homura's shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. She had to force herself not to shy away from the intensity of her gaze. "I want to help you, whatever the problem is. I want you to know that I will always be there for you, Homura."

This brought another weak laugh from her. "That's just it…you're so kind, and brave and-and dedicated to helping people. You're the greatest person I've ever met, and I don't deserve to be your friend. I don't deserve to love—"

Homura froze midsentence, eyes going wide with horror. A small, manic part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her previous belief that she was past embarrassment, and even the absurdity of how poorly this was going. When she had pictured confessing her love to Madoka, she had imagined something romantic, like telling her everything on the eve of Walpurgis Night, sharing that final night together before they went to what may be their last battle, or taking her hands on the battlefield after they had won and declaring her undying love for her mentor.

Not stupidly blurting it out after crying for five minutes while Madoka tried to comfort her.

All of this flashed through her mind in the time it took for her verbal slip to register in Madoka's mind and her expression to change to one of surprise. Homura wanted to run, to freeze time and bail out as fast as she could, but she was paralyzed and helpless in the wide-eyed gaze of those bright pink eyes.

"Homura? Did…" She cleared her throat and forced a smile. "I…thought I heard…"

"You did," Homura whispered miserably. She had already planted the idea in Madoka's mind. Even if she denied it now, Madoka would remain suspicious, maybe want to have even less to do with her because of that cloud of uncertainty hanging over her than if she knew the truth. And Homura's reaction to her slip was pretty damning. No…she might as well be open about it. "I love you, Madoka." She was surprised at how steady her voice was when she said it.

And then her mind was brought to a state of complete disarray, a kaleidoscope of buzzing feelings and half-formed thoughts, as she was enveloped in a crushing embrace and then could feel only soft, sweet lips on her own.

It only happened because of her. The skinny girl with glasses, pigtails and a weak voice would never have been able to work up the nerve to do such a thing. Looking back, she was a little surprised that she hadn't fainted. She supposed that the only thing that had kept her from going into shock was that Madoka didn't give her time to over-think what was happening.

When they had broken apart at last, indifferent to who might have seen them, Madoka had taken both of Homura's hands and said,

"I'm so lucky to have you."

Just thinking of it still made her stomach flutter, her heart melt. No, she never loved the meek Madoka any less, but it was the Magical Girl Madoka that made her realize she could be loved, too. Without that, she may never have known that her feelings were returned. She might not have had the strength to keep going through failure after failure.

It was far from the only timeline in which such a thing happened. It didn't stop after she began preventing Madoka from Contracting (or trying to), it merely reversed their roles. Madoka was no longer confident enough to initiate any kind of romance, but Homura's weak nerve had been hardened into steel by the purpose she held and the tragedies she had endured. It didn't always go well. There were times, through unfortunate configurations of events, where Madoka would want nothing to do with her. It hurt, but it was more important that she focus on protecting her, anyway.

In some timelines, they took to falling asleep wrapped up in each other's embrace, but their relationship always remained chaste. Though a small but insistent part of her craved more, demanded she give in to the desire she felt for her love, she had pushed it to the corners of her mind and simply basked in the affection that Madoka had for her. It wouldn't have been right. While Homura had known Madoka for years by the end of her tribulations, Madoka only ever knew her for a few weeks. They were not like Kyoko and Sayaka, whose relationship seemed to revolve around their overactive libidos, the two of them unexpectedly disappearing only to return a short time later, faces flushed, Sayaka looking sheepish and Kyoko smug. Homura had had no desire to rush them into something so personal and intimate when Madoka was still, time and again, just getting to know her.

Sleeping together, chaste or not, still presented problems, though. Once, in one of the early timelines, Junko had walked in on them sharing a bed. The innocence of their relationship didn't make it much less embarrassing to be caught sleeping together when they hadn't even told Madoka's family that they were dating. Two friends sleeping in the same bed wasn't that big a deal, but her own reaction and Madoka's flustered, embarrassed attempts to explain it away did more to raise suspicion than the circumstances themselves.

"Well, what have we here?"

Something wasn't right. That voice didn't belong. As consciousness slowly returned, she tried to make sense of her surroundings. She was in bed…she could feel Madoka pressed against her and consequently wrapped her arms more firmly around her…someone had said something…

Homura's eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright in bed. Madoka was jarred awake by the movement and sat up blearily, rubbing her eyes and blinking. "Homura? What is—"

Madoka froze midsentence, her face quickly turning a deep red to match Homura's. Even without her glasses on, she could see the smirk plastered across Junko's elegant face.

"A pleasure to see you again, Homura." Her tone was pleasant, but layered with mischief. "Madoka, you should have told me that your special friend was staying over. I would have told Tomohisa to make something special for breakfast." Homura did not like the way Junko emphasized "special friend," and Madoka seemed to have picked up on that, too.

"Mama, she just needed a-a place to stay, for the night. It was nothing…I just didn't want to bother you about having a guest." Homura knew that Junko didn't buy that for a second, knew that, even with both of them fully clothed, their reactions revealed that this wasn't just a friendly sleepover.

"Get ready for school, girls, and then join the rest of us for breakfast." Madoka jumped out of bed so quickly that she almost knocked Homura over and raced out of the room, cheeks practically glowing. Homura made to follow, but a gentle yet firm grip on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks, and nearly stopped her heart, too.

"A moment, please, Homura."

Funny how Homura had actually faced down death numerous times, but, at that moment, would have rather fought Walpurgisnacht than stay there with Junko. Madoka's mother chuckled, doing nothing to calm her nerves.

"Don't look so petrified, dear. This is just a friendly chat." She looked Homura up and down, making her feel as self conscious as the day she had first stepped into her new class at Mitakihara High. "I must admit, I'm surprised. I didn't think you had it in you."

"We didn't—we didn't do anything," Homura stammered, unable to quite meet Junko's eyes as she felt her cheeks burn.

The woman threw her head back and laughed at that. "That's between you and my daughter. Madoka isn't a child anymore; I trust her to make the right choices." She folded her arms and leaned back a little, peering down at Homura with a frankly appraising look on her face. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, really—Madoka has been much happier, lately. I suspected that she might have found a sweetheart, but I never would have guessed that it was one of her school friends. The point is, Homura, that my daughter sees something special in you. You understand that, right?"

Homura nodded fervently, still wishing she could crawl under something and hide until it was time to fight Walpurgisnacht, but determined to express how much Junko's daughter meant to her.

"Good. Treat her well, and we'll get along just fine." She smiled at Homura, which did little to reassure her, and patted her on the shoulder. "I'll see you at the breakfast table!" And with that, she set off down the hallway, leaving Homura leaning against the wall, wondering what had just happened, until Madoka came looking for her.

She had stopped feeling intimidated by Junko some time after that, but the woman had certainly left an impression on her that morning. That conversation wasn't the end of it; Junko had been quite amused by the whole thing, and spent the rest of that timeline making light, casual remarks that caused the two no end of embarrassment. It was the only time that Homura had felt some small measure of relief when she had to reset.

Homura had been careful not to let anything of that sort happen again. Her cheeks still burned.

When she had told Madoka that she had seen countless Magical Girls die, she wasn't merely being expressive. She had no idea of how many times she had seen Mami, Sayaka, Kyoko, and Madoka die. Seeing the first three die got easier each time, but, if anything, seeing Madoka die over and over only made each time hurt more than the last.

The coldness that made it harder and harder to get the other girls to trust her, that had made her unable to communicate her intentions with Mami in the final timeline, made Sayaka loathe her more than ever, was a learned behavior, and a crucial one. By shutting out as much of her feelings as she could, she protected herself from pain brought on by the death that surrounded her.

She wished she could have protected Madoka from it.

The situation brought a sick feeling of déjà vu, only their positions were reversed. She held Madoka tight against her chest as the girl cried until she had nothing left.

This timeline had been particularly rough. Sayaka had been provoked into a fight by Kyoko and found herself outmatched by the veteran. Her best friend's death would have been enough to crush Madoka, but then it got worse. Mami fought the redhead afterwards to avenge her protégé. A brief but vicious fight left both of them battered to pieces, and Mami, though the victor, had been too weak to save herself from Kyoko's kamikaze finale. Homura had known better than to get between those two, but had she been aware of what Kyoko could do despite her injuries, she would have tried to do something.

Now they were all dead.

And Madoka was heartbroken.

Homura had all but written off this timeline as a disastrous failure, but she couldn't give up. Ever. And if this was the time where she finally succeeded, after nearly thirty failures, then she wouldn't regret a thing. There was a time, maybe a dozen timelines ago, when she still would have tried to save everyone…but a dozen failures had hardened her.

That Madoka was crying, sobbing, even, let her know how bad this was. Across so many timelines, Homura had almost never seen her cry. Even when she was her weak and insecure non-Magical self, deep down Madoka was made of strong stuff. But everyone had limits.

She hoped she didn't have to find out what her own were.

It wasn't that she had disliked the other girls. But after so many failed timelines, it had become a matter of necessity that she grow indifferent to their fates. It had already been all but impossible that even Madoka survive. If she had tried to save all of them, she would have lost her mind long before she had succeeded…if she could even call this a success.

But now, with Madoka out of reach and only the other girls for company, she had to relearn how to care about them. It was slow going and she often came across as cold or even cruel, but she was reconnecting with Mami, Kyoko and Sayaka. It came as a surprise that Sayaka, always the most difficult for her during the time loop, connected most readily with her now. She suspected that the absence of Madoka in Sayaka's life had something to do with it. The simplest explanation was that a great deal of Sayaka's animosity had come from her overprotective attitude towards Madoka, and with her gone from Sayaka's life the girl was less spiteful.

But Homura believed that there was more to the answer than that. The chance encounter with Junko, Tomohisa and Tatsuya at the park had provided her with another explanation. The hole that Madoka had left in Sayaka's life could only be matched by the one left in Homura's, and, without understanding why, Sayaka felt that the strange girl was a kindred spirit, just as Junko had. Some of her distaste for Sayaka remained, but the more she thought about it the more she accepted the connection between them.

It wasn't easy to reconnect with the other girls after spending so much time thinking of them as disposable tools or obstacles to be overcome, but it was the recognition of how similar they were that made it possible. Like her, Sayaka had been trapped by a self-destructive need to save the person she cared for. Kyoko was the only one to have experienced suffering on a magnitude comparable to her own. And Mami had to live with the regret of having made the wrong choice and losing control of her life. There were plenty of Magical Girls that she wouldn't be able to feel anything for, but these three she could relate to. These were the only people she might be able to consider friends.

She wasn't sure if it would have been better to have never become romantically involved with Madoka in any of the timelines. The memories of time spent together, her feelings freely expressed and reciprocated, were so sweet that recalling them made her heart melt. It also made the loneliness she felt now cut all the deeper.

Sometimes, it became too much to bear and she longed to be held again, to feel Madoka's warmth and softness and feel, for a short time, that she was safe in her embrace.

A part of her, a very small part that she kept crushed deep inside of her, longed for those days. Because, as horrible as it was, she still had Madoka. This sense of loss ached almost as badly as the times she had wept over her lifeless body.

So every morning, she reached for the lover that she knew was not there, and hurt. She saw Kyoko and Sayaka happy together, and hurt. She would see or hear something that brought forth a memory, and hurt.

But she did not despair.

She had weathered the endless timelines and their cruelties. She had faced Madoka's death or corruption more times than she could count. She had gone through Hell itself for her cause.

And she had survived.

She would survive this, too.

And when the old wounds threatened to tear open again, she had only to remind herself of one thing to dull the pain: Madoka loved her. Of this, she could be absolutely certain. And, when her time came, she would be reunited with her love until the end of the universe.

Homura pulled the ribbon from her hair and let the black locks fall freely around her shoulders. She stood still for several moments, eyes closed, reminiscing; a nightly ritual, keeping the things most important to her fresh in her mind, even though it hurt. To let them fade would be unbearable.

She carefully folded the ribbon and pressed it gently to her lips before setting it back in her bedside drawer.

Good night, Madoka. I love you.