Sometimes it seemed to Homura that she had spent years of her life within witches' barriers, but even after all that time, whenever a barrier faded and she returned to reality, she felt as if her head might burst in pain. She felt her body contort and twist, a feeling she found best described as passing through a hole far too small for her, but even so it was the headaches that were the worst.

Kyouko seemed to share her opinion, for when the two found themselves back atop the roof of Mitakihara's hospital, she rubbed her own forehead, her eyes closed in agony. She grumbled something that did not make too much sense, but Homura said nothing, and simply reached down to claim the Grief Seed by her feet.

"This witch is always unusually quick in bringing her barrier to this hospital," Homura remarked. Kyouko seemed to be too busy fighting off the urge to throw up to hear her, but Homura kept talking. "I've always thought that more than slightly odd."

"Why?" Kyouko's voice was strained. It was almost funny how the trauma of leaving the witch's barrier seemed to have hurt her more than fighting the witch herself. "No point trying to make sense of what the witches do."

"Surely you can understand that after making this month stretch out for years, the notion of understanding witches and, perhaps, even healing them was, for a while, extremely appealing to me."

"Ah. So that is why you knew that I had no chance of saving Sayaka?" Homura nodded. That, she thought, and first-hand experience, countless times. She kept the thought to herself. "Why is it that you find this witch we just fought so odd, then?"

"There was another witch here, not long ago. The witch that killed Mami," Kyouko did an admirable job of not letting any emotions show, but Homura saw something shift in her eyes. Kyouko would never ask about Mami, Homura knew. She understood all too well what it meant to be a magical girl, so her death was, if sad, not at all a surprise. "Hospitals are common domains of witches, but it took less than a week for this new witch to take the place of the vanquished one. That was very hasty of her. Most witches take longer to transfer their barriers, unless they employ their familiars, but this witch did it on her own. I know because I've seen it," she anticipated Kyouko's question. "It makes me very curious. Do witches have personalities? Does something remain of the soul that once was? When you looked at Sayaka and what she became, perhaps you might have seen something about her or her barrier that made you think that it was definitely Sayaka, that her heart endured, even if twisted… But can we ever know? No witch has ever explained herself. What we have is only conjecture."

"You seem to have thought a lot about witches," Kyouko said, but there was no accusation in her voice. "Is it because…?"

Kyouko left her words unsaid. It was as if she realized, as she uttered the question, that she would rather not know the answer. Homura looked into the night sky, stretching ever onwards. It was dark and starless, windy and silent, and cold. It was cold, most of all. Kyouko need not know the answer to her question, and for that, Homura envied her deeply. She knew the price of wishes and miracles far too well to even find a shred of solace in praying that she would forget what she had seen and learned.

Because, after all, why would she not be desperate to understand the hearts of the witches when she had, time and time again, seen her own dearest friends become witches themselves? That damnation seemed to be Sayaka's inexorable fate, more than anyone else's, but Madoka had known that dreadful end as well, and Mami, too, even when Homura did all she could to spare her from the gruesome demise that so often awaited her.

She turned back to look at Kyouko. She had been a witch, too, and just the memory of it made Homura struggle to remain calm. She thought that she had managed to make it stop hurting, but of course it never did. She had only lied to herself when she believed that she couldn't suffer anymore, that Kyouko meant nothing to her.

And everyone I care about, she corrected herself. Not only Kyouko. Lately Kyouko was always on her mind, although in truth that was hardly a complaint, and Homura did nothing to remove her from there.

Homura put the Grief Seed into the discreet black case she carried with her, with all the others. Though she usually did not dwell upon them, now she could not help but shiver as she remembered that each one of those was all that remained of a witch, and though the majority of them were - if fate still held a shred of kindness - originally familiars, some were bound to be lost magical girls. Those things, so small, even beautiful, were the sole remnants of their souls. And now we eat them. That ought to disgust her, and perhaps it did, before, but now those doubts were gone. For good or ill, she could not tell.

Kyouko's hand touched hers as she too glanced at the case, at the Seeds they had collected. Her eyes were large, fascinated, and even a bit distraught.

"How many?" She asked softly.

"Nineteen."

"So many… How could you save all of these?"

"I don't use much magic," Homura said, and admittedly that was a bit difficult to believe, so she clarified. "I don't need to stop time all that often. I already know almost everything that will happen, having seen it all so many times, so I've learned the shortest path, so to speak. I've learned to avoid unnecessary dangers that would require me to use magic to save myself. And I know where the witches roam. I know from which familiars they will birth, as well as when and where."

"I see," that seemed to satisfy Kyouko, but the sight of all those Grief Seeds still made her uneasy. "Is Sayaka's there?" Homura nodded, and it drew no reaction from Kyouko. "Alright."

"If it ever makes you feel like we are doing something wrong, that we are using their deaths for our own gain, I promise you that we will absolutely need those Grief Seeds to face Walpurgisnacht."

"I don't feel wrong about it," she said. Homura had expected that to be her answer. "They're dead. It's Sayaka's death that hurts me, and the way she- No, we were all tricked. But this doesn't make me feel bad. I would be a hypocrite if I said it did. You may know this already, from another time, but not every Grief Seed I've gotten has been… Fairly acquired."

"You have not told me that," Homura said. She had always presumed that, given Kyouko's past, but only now was her suspicion confirmed.

She shared the tale as they made their way back home. Tonight they returned earlier, so there was still some life in the streets of Mitakihara, but at no moment did anyone pay them any mind. Kyouko told her of the other magical girls in Kazamino, whence she came, and how they often crossed paths. Her battle with Sayaka was from her first, or her fiercest. There, magical girls are predators, and their prey was anything weaker than them, which, of course, included other magical girls as well. Grief Seeds were, sometimes, wrung from magical girls who could not protect themselves from the stronger. That was the order of things, Kyouko said, and she had benefited from it. As she spoke, her eyes were deeply focused on Homura's, like she was waiting for any manner of judgment, of disappointment. Instead she simply nodded, unbothered. That brought Kyouko some comfort, for which she offered thanks silently, with only her stare.

When they reached Homura's house, the lights still shone all around them, from lamps and windows of nearby buildings. Her house, Homura noticed, was the only one dressed in darkness. Though the streets were not deserted, there were few pedestrians to be seen, and traffic was the main sign of activity in Mitakihara. By this time, most people were already at home. The past nights had been unusually cold for spring, so it was no wonder that few were inclined to stay outside. When Homura thought of the warmth inside, she felt a longing, a desire to be home, safe, cozy. Not alone. She hadn't looked forward to getting to her house in a very long time, so long that she could hardly remember.

The place didn't feel like home until just the past few days, she realized as she unlocked the door and watched Kyouko step inside, carelessly tossing her shoes on a corner. She went to the kitchen before anywhere else, and returned from there before Homura could even reach her, holding a box of chocolate that Homura had never found on her own.

"You know my pantry better than I do," said Homura. It was an aunt - or a grandmother, or a cousin, she couldn't remember this detail - who had bought everything Homura would need to live on her own. She vaguely recalled being taught the hospital's phone number, and told to call it before any other should she ever need help.

"You really don't spend much time here, huh?" Kyouko put a bonbon in Homura's hand, the same sort she was eating. To Homura it tasted excessively sweet, but she still wanted another one.

"No reason to stay here too long," she answered. "It's a waste of time, and I have very little of it to throw away."

"You can throw it away tonight," Kyouko approached her, throwing another candy into her mouth, "right?" Her face was right in front of Homura, almost too close, but she didn't protest. "You have such tired eyes," she said, and Homura looked away to avoid her gaze. "Look at me. You're home. It's still early, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Thanks to you," she said. "Your assistance makes it much easier to defeat witches, and faster, too."

"I'm happy to help," she grinned, showing her teeth. She had lost more of them this night, and though she would just use her magic to restore them, until then, Homura presumed, her smile should look ugly, but to her it was comforting. No blood or hurt could ever rob that smile of its earnestness.

After they bathed, they met at the kitchen to cook dinner together. It was not a delightfully happy moment as it had been earlier, almost euphoric, but there was something pleasant in its quiet simplicity, and how they could simply eat together with no rush at all. I could get used to this lethargy, Homura thought for a moment, but a doubt crept up on her, the doubt of whether or not she would have the chance to get used to joy in the first place. She got up, told Kyouko she had eaten enough, and the day had left her tired, so she was headed to bed. Kyouko's distraught visage left no question that she knew that something troubled Homura, but all she said was "goodnight". For a moment it looked as if she meant to ask what was wrong, and Homura wished she would do so, but she decided against it, in the end. As Homura retreated to her bedroom, she saw Kyouko headed towards the kitchen, no doubt to eat whatever she could get her hands on, as she was wont to when anxious.

Homura wished that she could find the courage to go to Kyouko and learn what troubled her, but she too did nothing, and closed her bedroom door. In the darkness, it was entirely unfamiliar to her, and she stumbled upon a desk. It reminded her of how rarely she'd sleep in her own bed.

She, of course, was not sleepy at all, so for the longest time she only stared at the deep blackness, arms wide open for all her insecurities to embrace her all at once. This happiness will not last, they hummed all around her, if you succumb to this hope, you will break when it abandons you, they muttered into her ear, you must not dream, for there is no tomorrow, and when you wake you will only find yourself right at the beginning of this labyrinth, ceaselessly, inevitably, they screamed in her head.

Her face was kissed by cold tears. She had not wept in far too long, so it felt to Homura as if she was doing something wrong by crying. She kept thinking of Kyouko, of what they had shared in these past few days that felt more significant than years of her life, and she was terrified that it might all be for naught, that despite all this they might still fail, that she would be back in the hospital, starting the eternal month anew. Kyouko reminded Homura of happiness, but also brought back the crushing fear of losing something so important to her.

Homura jumped out of bed, and rushed to the guest room, decided to talk to Kyouko, to not let her worries fester unsaid, but she couldn't find her in bed. Instead she heard sounds of eating coming from the living room. She found Kyouko sitting on the floor, her back against a couch, surrounded by empty packages of snacks and cookies. Homura said nothing, and instead simply sat next to Kyouko, who, also wordless, responded by offering her a biscuit, which Homura took happily.

"Were you thinking, too?" Kyouko asked when she finished another bag of chips. "Is that why you couldn't sleep?"

"Yeah," Homura said at once. She did not wish to make Kyouko worried, but at the same time, she felt thankful that Kyouko cared so much. "Usually I'm good at not filling my head with painful thoughts, but when it does happen, I never know what to do. I can't stop thinking of everything I've done wrong, all the ways I could be hurt."

"It sucks," Kyouko said. Her hand reached for more sweets, but she restrained herself. Homura could tell that it was a difficult impulse for her to overcome. "I hate thinking. When I try to sleep, I mean. I never have any good thoughts. Don't have too many happy memories to dwell on."

"We'll have good thoughts someday," Homura mouthed a hollow promise, not only to Kyouko but to herself as well. "When all is over."

Kyouko's smile was sad. "Together?" Homura nodded.

"Unless you don't want me by your side. I figured we would leave Mitakihara once we defeat Walpurgisnacht. We've gotten rid of all the witches and familiars here. The city is safe. Cleansed. Few cities in history have ever been cleansed from witches, but that's what we did with Mitakihara."

"We could travel together," Kyouko said. "This is a fine city, though. Shame we'll have to leave it. You sure we couldn't have left some familiars so we'd still have a job here?"

"No," she said, stern. "Long ago I promised Madoka that I would not let her become a magical girl. I would not let her suffer as we have. For her sake, I can't merely defeat Walpurgisnacht. Once I'm gone, I must leave behind a safe Mitakihara, one where no one will need to make a contract to protect."

"Huh," Kyouko sighed, then paused. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. "You really loved her, didn't you? You told me, but I had no idea of the lengths you've gone to."

"Yes. I wish I didn't have to leave," Homura said, and putting it to words made her intentions seem that much more real. It was easy to imagine herself leaving Mitakihara, but to say it like this, now that it seemed so close, felt like a dagger to her chest. She sighed. "I have to, though. I can't live here anymore. I can't be friends with Madoka, no matter how much I want to be. Not after all that we've been through. She… She will need to do a lot of thinking on her own when all this is done. What with everything that she has lost. And I'd feel dishonest, too, and-"

"That's bullshit," Kyouko declared. "You're making up excuses. You should talk to her."

"K-Kyouko?"

"She lost her best friend. You may think you have no comfort to offer her, but you do. You're afraid, aren't you?" Homura kept quiet. "What are you scared of? That she'll resent you for not saving Sayaka? Homura, she will not hate you," she put her hands on Homura's shoulder. "If you explain to her-"

"I can't explain it to her."

"Then she will never be your friend again," Kyouko said. That was the most painful thing; the very words made Homura wince, and Kyouko noticed it at once. "I'm sorry for being blunt. I just wanted to share my thoughts with you. If you-"

Before she could finish speaking, Homura's arms were on her body, holding tight to her. She put her head on Kyouko's shoulder, and felt her hand on top of it, brushing it in a slow caress.

"It's hard, Kyouko," Homura said. "Thinking of the future is so difficult for me, when I've been stuck in a present unending, a today that knows no tomorrow. I was lost for so long, thinking that the future would never come," and the possibility remained that it never would, "that my first instinct is to run away. Leave Mitakihara. Abandon everyone I used to know. That was all the thought I ever put into tomorrow. When I spoke of us having a feast together… That was the first plan I've made in ages. That is all I have to guide me after we vanquish Walpurgisnacht. I'm scared."

"I know you are," she continued to stroke Homura's head, and her other arm kept her close to her own body. "I'm not gonna tell you not to be scared. I can't pretend I know what it feels like. But I won't leave you alone."

"Kyouko…" She closed her eyes, and felt the overwhelming urge to say something foolish. "You are very dear to me. I'm thankful that my sole plan for the future involves you."

"Geez," she chuckled, "what's this all of a sudden?"

"I just felt I should say it," Homura looked again, and saw Kyouko's affable gaze. This gentleness was something new about Kyouko, something that only now she learned, even as she believed she had very little left to learn about her. This time, she was intensely glad to be wrong. "I had to say it," she said. "I've been silent for so long. I promised that I'd be honest, too."

"I'm happy that you've said it, then," she took Homura's hands. "Can I ask something from you, Homura?" She nodded, slowly. "Let's stay here a while. I can't sleep, and neither can you, so let's just… Let's just talk for a while."

"Yes," Homura said with a smile. Kyouko could not easily admit she needed help, that she craved company, that she was still in pain. This was her way of asking for it, Homura understood. "Yes, I think that would be wonderful."