She began to remember then. She saw herself, or what she thought was herself, at the front of the class. Homura then noted that what had been an unusually dark night had become the bright morning. This Homura that she saw at the front of the class was the Homura of what seemed lifetimes ago: timid. Shy. Long raven hair in braids. Her stuttering voice, her bespectacled eyes. All of it screamed of an acute sense of nervousness and anxiety. Homura also saw the images of her teacher, and of her classmates. She could see the teacher's face much more clearly, but the faces of the students were as of looking through glass: she could not make them out. But she could make out what the faces conveyed: mockery. Cruelty. Hate.
Hate.
Hate.
HATE
Her arms went to clutch at her chest, her heart pounding with emotions. She began to breathe heavily.
That's right. I have a heart problem. That's why… that's why I was weak. That's why I lost so much time at school. That's why I was so shy and timid, so weak and afraid. That's why I was despised. That's why I was so filled with self-loathing.
She then saw herself struggle with a math problem - a problem that she knew by rote memory now, after having done it so many times. But this first time she struggled…
…struggled.
And they mocked me. They mocked me because I struggled. It wasn't my fault, I had to miss school. My heart…
She remembered that her heart made her weak in gymnastics. This, too, brought her mockery. Brought her grief.
Grief.
She then remembered… she remembered a shining face from the crowd of students. A face that immediately put one's heart, even a broken one, at ease. A heart that was filled with love by a caring face. A face that glowed… a face that cared…
It was her face.
Her.
Ma-… Ma… Ma-…
She struggled to form the syllables of the name. She was clutching at her chest even harder, and tears poured forth from her eyes.
Ma-… Ma… Mado…
Her pink eyes that radiated happiness. That cheerful smile. Her cring personality.
It hid… it hid her feelings of doubt… as I grew to know her, I realized that I was not the only one who was so full of doubt, not the only one who was so full of anxiety. I was not the only one searching for a purpose in life.
She then remembered the attack. She was walking home, from a miserable day at school. Her grief, though abated somewhat by the glowing radiance of the girl that smiled, was not enough for her to escape her grief. She contemplated, not for the first time in her life, her suicide. That was when that horrible thing appeared, an odd curiosity that resembled the Arc de Triomphe. She thought she was going to die… curious, it is, how one who was just contemplating suicide should fear for her own life. That was when she appeared, and another as well. But the most important thing was that she appeared. And for the second time that day, her face shone radiance into Homura's soul.
Ma-… mado-… kaname…
They grew to know each other over the month.
But then she died. Why… why did you have to go sacrifice yourself? You didn't have to… not for me… not for me…
No. She didn't have to sacrifice herself. She did not have to. No. She didn't. She didn't. She didn't have to. No…
But then that's when she remembered it.
Incubator…
She did not know, after all of this time, whether or not her coming to know Madoka was the chance of fate, or if this alien, this thing from another world, had planned it all out. Had planned to allow Madoka and Homura to meet. Had planned to have Homura's one embodiment of hope to die. And that's when it moved in.
…no. Madoka reached out to me on her own. The Incubator merely knew a good opportunity when it saw one.
Wait… her name…
It was Madoka. Madoka. Kanamae Madoka. Madoka Madoka Madoka Madoka Madoka.
Madoka.
Madoka.
Everything seemed to fade away around her. Her images of her classmates, of her teacher, of Madoka, of the creature. It all faded away, and she felt illumination. It was not bright, but she felt it all the same. She felt the illumination that comes with knowledge.
The strange, pale girl that claimed to be her went up to the chalkboard and began drawing out a chart. It mapped several things to each other.
Good. We have now illuminated a small part of who you were.
Are?
No, were. The Homura you saw is you, but is also long gone in the past, dead in all senses of the term. She has been completely erased by you.
Oh…
Well, as I was saying, we now know that you were hospitalized for some time. A heart condition, yes? And that when you returned to school, you were received rather cruelly. That was when you first met her. Kaname Madoka, the one that filled you with so much hope and joy. The girl whose mere presence filled you with light. The one that filled every hole in your life. And she saved you. She protected you, from other and yourself. And then, in order to give her life purpose, she fought against the darkness in this world, played a role in the Incubator's play. A role born both from her desire for meaning, and her genuine need to be kind. A true heroine, if one was ever born. And now then, now that is illuminated, we shall…
Homura had her face in her palms. She was crying, this time not just from grief, but from rage.
Wh-… why are you making me remember… why? Why do I have to remember? Why?!
Because you want to remember. You are simply denying it because you do not want to know what is to come in your personal history.
I… I'm filled with all of these feelings… I see Madoka… I hear her… feel her… smell her… but doing so not only fills me with pleasure, but also pain. I feel guilt. Guilt. What did I do to her? Why should I remember? Shouldn't it be enough to feel love from her, and not pain?
No. You must know, otherwise you may not know yourself. Now, we must continue.
Now?
Yes, now.
She looked up, and saw that they were no longer there.