She lies on a stone-cold floor, alone and broken and clutching her soul in the palm of her hand—

"Madoka…"

—long black hair splayed out over the rubble and a quiet blur settles over her vision then lifts then settles then—

"Madoka? Who's that?"

Then she has to lift a hand up to feel her forehead, sticky and running red with blood like before—

"You were my best friend."

—but that didn't happen, did it? No, it happened, and what is happening now—

"My best friend."

—what is happening now is that she will see Madoka again, one more time, one more time one more time—

"Homura-chan…"

She will be with Madoka again, and so she smiles and she thinks that everything will be okay.

Nothing else matters.

"Homura-chan."

A smile floats up above her—

"I missed you."

—nothing else matters.

a highly experimental piece depicting the death of homura. don't flame too hard.