The house was needlessly large, far too big for Homura to ever think it cozy, its rooms too wide and open for the scarce furniture to possibly fill, but Kyouko's presence made it a much warmer place, more pleasant. The empty spaces appeared smaller now, Homura realized only in the morning, as she woke.

They slept in the living room, Homura on a cushy black couch, while Kyouko preferred a warm futon. The past night had left the two so exhausted that they just laid down, exchanged a few words, and promptly fell asleep. Homura could not remember what she even said, nor could she recall getting a futon for Kyouko in the first place. Of the prior evening she recalled little past locking the door once she and Kyouko were inside, and the warmth and safety that she felt when she did so. It was the first thing she thought of once she was awake, and it made her feel astonishingly serene.

She was the first to rise, of course. She loathed to wake up late, even if it meant she only got precious few hours of rest, so despite having gone to sleep some hours past midnight, she still got up just after dawn. Usually she kept her curtains open, to let sunlight tear her from her slumber, but for Kyouko's sake, she closed them that night, so when she opened her eyes and saw that it was dark, she was taken aback for a brief moment.

When Homura looked down to see Kyouko still asleep, a vague melancholy gnawed at her: Kyouko looked so vulnerable when she slept, her bite gone, her face almost sad. It made Homura wonder if she was having a bad dream. She called out Kyouko's name, softly, but had to give her a light shake on the shoulder to get her to wake up. To her surprise, Kyouko's hand clutched her own, her grip firm, almost painful. When she let go, Kyouko seemed shocked as well, but relaxed as she realized it was Homura who was with her.

"Sorry 'bout that," she said, trying to get up. Her eyes looked tired. "What time is it?"

"Dawn," said Homura. The answer made Kyouko groan. "I'm sorry if I woke you too early. If you would like to go back to sleep, then-"

"No, no," she said, quickly. "It's fine. It's probably best if I wake now. I did not sleep well."

"Does your body still hurt?"

"Hm? Yeah, it still does, a little, but that's not it. It'll heal soon, anyways. Always does. I just had bad dreams."

"Ah," Homura didn't know what to say. She could already assume what Kyouko dreamed of. Nightmares were a common occurrence for magical girls: something about the magic within a witch's barrier tainted the mind and ensured bad dreams. Although she knew, Homura asked anyways. "Sayaka?"

"Mhm," Kyouko rose, and sat on the couch, next to Homura. Though she could not recall doing it, she must have given some of her clothes to Kyouko the night before, so that she would not have to wear something stained with her own dried blood. The two were about the same size, fortunately. "It's stupid. I shouldn't dwell on it."

"It's not stupid. You can't choose what you dream. Do you want to talk?" Kyouko didn't answer, and Homura did not press the matter. "I'll go make us breakfast, if that's alright with you," she got up, and felt Kyouko tug at her sleeve.

"Wait. I'll go with you. Let me help you."

"It's just eggs, rice, and maybe tea," said Homura. "You don't need to trouble yourself."

"No, it's not any trouble," she said, avoiding Homura's gaze. "I… I haven't cooked meals in a long time. Not even simple ones. Not since I've been alone. I've just stolen whatever I wanted, but didn't prepare anything myself. I miss that."

Homura understood, and nodded. She walked towards the kitchen, and heard Kyouko's footsteps just behind her, following closely. She remembered, then, that Kyouko was the only person that she had ever invited into her house. Kyouko was always the last one standing, after Mami and Sayaka were lost, and was the only one who would actually consider trusting Homura. No wonder it felt almost natural for her to be here.

Kyouko was a fantastic helping hand, despite not being, at first, entirely awake: she was quick and eager, and always seemed to find whatever Homura asked of her in a moment. She noticed, too, that each time Kyouko opened the fridge or a cabinet and saw that they were filled, her eyes became full of life, and her mouth was left agape. It didn't take much for their breakfast to start getting more and more elaborate as the two decided to indulge in all they wanted, and the kitchen was filled with the smells of sizzling meat, fresh bread, coffee brewing. Such excess was not something that Homura would really do on her own, but with Kyouko by her side, it was delightful. The house had not known laughter in so long, but Kyouko managed to draw out the occasional giggle from Homura whenever the piles of food that Kyouko set on her plate collapsed.

But that laughter, of course, was short-lived. When they sat down to eat at the dining room's overly large table, always jarringly vacant, Kyouko had grown quiet, thoughtful. Sayaka was on her mind, Homura presumed, but didn't think it was in her place to question her. She ate in silence, patient, but for the longest time, Kyouko didn't touch her food. Suddenly, then, her eyes welled up with agonized tears and she ate with a ferocity that disturbed Homura: she tore her meat to pieces with quick bites, hardly chewing before swallowing, and seemed to pour the contents of her plate into her mouth so quickly that it was a miracle she wasn't choking. She drank juices and milk and hot chocolate and soda all together, one after the other, and by the time she was finished, she was coughing, panting, her eyes red.

"The end of the week," she said, her mouth still full. "That's when Walpurgisnacht comes, right?" Homura responded with a brisk nod. "We'll probably lose, won't we?" She didn't answer, but her silence seemed to say enough to Kyouko. "I'd better stuff myself as much as I can before I die, then. That way at least I can say that one good thing happened to me in my life."

"You won't die," said Homura, reaching out for Kyouko's hand. When she held it, she felt that it was shaking, flimsy.

"But I always die, don't I?" She asked. "Like Sayaka."

"Yes. But not now. It'll be different this time."

It wasn't ever different, Homura knew that well enough. She couldn't tell why she was so determined this time, after everything. She just held tighter to Kyouko's hand.

"I hope you're right, but I don't think you are."

Homura didn't think so either. She sighed, let go of Kyouko and got up, picking up her plate, then made her way towards the kitchen. Behind, she saw that Kyouko was headed to the couch, leaving her mess atop the table.

"Kyouko," she called her. "We're washing the dishes."

"Eh? What for?" She complained. "What's the point of doing that if you're probably gonna turn back time again in a couple days?"

"We're washing the dishes," Homura repeated. Kyouko might have given up, but Homura could not, especially now. "We're not coming back to a dirty house. When we've defeated Walpurgisnacht, we're having a feast. The two of us. Anything- Or, rather, everything we want."

Kyouko opened her mouth and words of protest seemed to cluster at the tip of her tongue, but in the end she just grabbed her plates and followed Homura towards the kitchen. Washing the dishes was not nearly as fun as cooking them, so the two were mostly silent. Cold water seeped through her fingers, and without Kyouko's jovial laughter to distract her, Homura stared at her own kitchen, so sterile and empty, too large, almost perfectly clean, not because Homura ever cleaned it but because she rarely used it in the first place. Like Kyouko, she usually ate out, though she at least paid for what she wanted, which was never much.

"You're alone here," Kyouko said; she must have noticed her barren surroundings just as Homura did.

"I am," Homura didn't know how else to answer. She could tell that Kyouko wanted to know more, but didn't know if it was proper to ask. Homura chose to explain herself, thinking of the honesty she had promised. "My parents have died long ago, leaving me this house. I've been left alone since nobody really can take care of me. The rest of my family, I think, expects me to die soon."

"You don't sound saddened about it," Kyouko remarked. "I didn't mean to pry or dig open old wounds, but-"

"It doesn't hurt. It doesn't make me feel a thing. My family means nothing to me. They are of another life."

"Ah, right," Kyouko set aside her last plate, and leaned against a nearby counter, looking right at Homura. Water dripped from the tips of her hair, water that had spilled into her from the sink. Speaking of family seemed to make her miserable, and Homura's own coldness made her visibly disconcerted, but she did not look away, and for that Homura was thankful. "It's been a while since you must have last seen them, given… You know."

"Too long," Homura confirmed. "I have few memories of my parents, and what little comes to mind is vague. They died some years back, in truth," some years meant very different things for her and Kyouko, but she thought she was being clear enough, "and they are such a distant remembrance now. The saddest thing - or at least I think it would be sad, if I could care - was that I did not mourn them. Yes, I remember this, at least. Even then their deaths didn't make me sad. I was going to die, too, and soon. My heart, you see" she put a hand on her chest. "When they died, I was so certain that I would be reunited with them in no time. There was no doubt in my mind that, before long, I would close my eyes, and when I opened them, I would already be gone, and somewhere else. So I did not cry too much."

"Yet you didn't die."

"A miracle," Homura smiled weakly. "But not one that made me hopeful. Up until I made my contract with Kyubey, I was dying. Though I managed to live for longer than anyone expected of me, each passing year only made it less possible for the miracle to endure. Each year made the next one more likely to be my last."

Kyouko had come closer to her, shaken, and wrapped her arms around her. This made her sad, Homura realized. Yes, she reflected, it was quite the maudlin tale. A young girl, all alone, left to die… Homura wondered if that made her sad and self-pitying, once, and she had just forgotten. She had forgotten so much.

"Didn't you have more family?" Kyouko asked. "Cousins, grandparents, an uncle…"

"I did. Still do. Mainly they took care of formalities, like signing papers I couldn't, or approving surgeries that I needed to stay alive. Sometimes they visited," she tried to remember those visits, but could not. She knew their names, and their voices, as sometimes they'd phone her to ask how well she adapted to living alone, but their faces were lost to her. "Not often. Usually I was alone in the hospitals."

"That's awful!"

"I don't blame them. Maybe I should, but I don't. I was ill from the moment I was born. Like I told you, I was expected to either die or lead an extremely limited life. I can't blame them for not being able to care too much about the girl who lived in a hospital, who could not play with her cousins, who could never visit them, who was always bad news, whose fate had been sealed at her birth."

"And you were okay with that?"

"I don't know," said Homura. "I am now. I don't remember how I felt about it then. It's all mist now, everything before I became a magical girl. Before this endless month. As far as I'm concerned, I never lived anything but this month," Kyouko tightened her grasp, and Homura returned the hug. She liked the feeling of Kyouko's arms around her back, so she stayed like that, quiet and still, and warm. She could not bring herself to feel any sorrow. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't enjoy being so gloomy. I just don't have too many happy things to share."

"That's okay," Kyouko forced herself to smile. Not too successfully, given her watering eyes, but Homura loved her for trying. "I'm a downer too. Being so certain of my death," she sighed, shrugged. "You know about my family, too. Not a fun story you'd tell at parties. Or any occasion lighter than a funeral. I guess we were just born unlucky, to have to face all this sadness."

"I was lucky once, at least," said Homura, putting her face right in front of Kyouko's, so that their foreheads were nearly touching. "I'm glad to have met you. And glad to have remembered how much you mean to me. I think I feel happy when I'm with you."

"So you're happy to be sad with me?" Kyouko smirked. It was an expression that suited her face far more than tears or even gentle smiles.

"You could put it that way. Ah, Kyouko," she put her head on her shoulder, as she realized something. "I don't feel lonely now. I had felt like that for so long that I even forgot it hurt."

Kyouko needed no words to answer that, nor did Homura want words. The two simply continued to hold one another, and that was all that she needed. There was a comforting tenderness to Kyouko's embrace, one that was a sweet surprise to Homura, who knew so much about everyone around her that she did not think she could ever be surprised by them again. She was deeply glad to be wrong.

When that was done, the two put all the plates, glasses and cups in their right place. It was such a small thing, and very likely pointless, but it felt like a promise that they would return, and it returned to Homura some of the confidence she had lost over the countless times she had relived this month. Kyouko reminded her of so much that was important, so much that had been lost to the mist, and just for that, Homura was thankful beyond words.

But that, of course, was not the only thing she was thankful for, nor was gratitude all she felt for Kyouko. That much she could not doubt now.

Afterwards the two bathed, Kyouko first - for her face was still smudged with dirt and dust from the past night - and for such a long time that it made Homura worry even though she knew that, logically, nothing could be wrong. She could not blame Kyouko for wanting to relax on the warm water, though. The past night had been harsh, even to Homura, who had grown so used to watching Sayaka's fate. Kyouko, then, must have been hit extremely hard. Homura wished she had words of comfort for that, just as she wished she could offer Madoka any relief, but she knew all too well that, even at this, time was far more powerful than her.

It was her turn after Kyouko's, and she too lingered in the bath, thinking a hundred thoughts as she let the pleasant water envelop her. She did not feel like she was in a hurry this time, even though she knew that in just a few days the sky would be torn asunder by the coming of Walpurgisnacht, and perdition would descend upon them. A disquieting thought, one that nearly made her jump up and run to finish her preparations, but Homura calmed herself by saying that she had already taken many precautions setting up her battle strategy against Walpurgisnacht. She had help now, she told herself, and time. Not being alone made things so much easier… She just enjoyed the quiet and the warmth, knowing that she needn't rush madly now that she had Kyouko with her.

Kyouko awaited in the living room, casually sitting upon a couch, her arms taking up most of its space, her feet carelessly resting upon the glass surface of the coffee table. The soaked tips of her red hair fell down on the cushions, too. Homura assumed that she was not too used to being a guest, so she didn't care. She did, however, smirk when she saw that Kyouko was wearing her clothes, and they did not at all become her. They fit her pretty well, but the frilly ends of her long white sleeves only made her look silly, and her long socks were just slightly mismatched in color. When Kyouko noticed that she was not alone, she quickly rose, and the pink on her face betrayed her embarrassment.

"I'll slap ya if you laugh," she said, pulling up her sleeves. "It's so much easier when you transform and your clothes just pop up on your body. Besides, you've got some weird clothes that just don't match."

"That's because you're wearing a dress top for formal occasions, but an entirely different skirt, and these socks you're supposed to wear for winter, under your pants," she put a hand on her mouth to thwart a giggle.

"I knew that!" She said, then sat down again. Homura took her side, and Kyouko actually allowed her enough space to sit comfortably. "I hope you don't mind," she said, pointing at a bag of chips on the table, "but I went to the kitchen," she picked it up, and offered to Homura, who accepted, though she was not hungry.

"I don't mind," she said. "Be comfortable," just as she said that, Kyouko put her feet up on the table again, and stretched her arms.

Kyouko was not eating voraciously anymore, as if desperate, which Homura took as a good sign. That was a bad habit of hers, though of course Homura could not fault her for it.

"So," Kyouko began. "I don't expect we're going to be sitting on our asses here waiting for Walpurgisnacht, right?"

"Of course not," said Homura. She was glad that Kyouko was taking this very seriously. "We have three days left, although there has been one occasion in which she appeared one day later than expected."

"Well, I'll admit that I'm really not prepared for her. I don't know anything about Walpurgisnacht other than that she's bad news. I didn't even think she was a serious threat until you told me about her."

"I know a lot about her," Homura said, and it was hard not to speak with some bitterness. "More than I would like to, and, so far, it hasn't really helped me much. I'll tell you all I know, of course, when we are preparing."

"Three days… Is that enough?"

"I have already set up my weapons around the area where she will likely appear, and have accounted for the variance. I'll show it to you. Three days will be all we need, whether we meet with disaster or prevail, if we make good use of them. It's even better now that I am not alone, and am not so pressed for time. But the days that come after Sayaka," Homura spoke in nebulous terms, but there was no way to make Sayaka's fate seem any kinder, "are usually not as busy as the others. I let Madoka alone, and I know that she will not be receptive to Kyubey's treachery. Well, not until Walpurgisnacht arrives. When I fail to save Mitakihara from Walpurgisnacht, Madoka tends to make the contract to keep everyone safe."

"If Madoka can-"

"No," Homura would not discuss this. "I am fighting to end this without her needing to become like us. So that she will not see her own wish corrupted and become the vilest witch to haunt creation."

"I see," Kyouko sighed. Without knowing all that Homura did, it ought to sound disappointing to hear they could not count on Madoka. "If you say it's for the best, then I'll trust you."

"Thank you," Homura said, and meant it. Afterwards, she got up. "Would you like me to show it to you now? The place where will make our stand."

"Sure," said Kyouko. "Knowing how you fight, there's gonna be a lot of bombs there, right? Well, I don't wanna get blown up so I'd best pay attention."

Homura agreed with a quick "mhm", and remembered something. She excused herself, quickly went into her bedroom, still perfectly tidy, rarely used, and searched within her drawers for a little gift for Kyouko. When she returned, she showed Kyouko her open palms, and the black ribbon that lay there.

"You lost yours last night," Homura said. "You can use mine, if you don't mind."

"Oh, thanks," she took it, grinning. "It's really helpful, honestly. I hate it when my dang hair gets on my face when I'm fighting."

"Yes, that seems like a pain. It's best if that doesn't happen while you're fighting Walpurgisnacht. She's a dangerous enough foe when you're not blinded."

Homura had not actually thought of that, of course, but the real reason was something she'd rather not say now. The truth was simply that she felt that it might make Kyouko happy, and she wished to see her smile. She made no mention of that, however, for even though she had promised honesty to Kyouko, she still judged herself deserving of this one secret, for now.