Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2012-12-04 09:36 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2012-12-04 09:36 pm
Entry tags:
Madoka Magica | Homura, Madoka | PG-13 | Persephone's Waltz (6)
Title: Persephone's Waltz, Chapter 6: You said you'd be here. You promised!
Characters/Pairings: Homura, Madoka, (skip) Sayaka
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer/Warnings: See table of contents.
Homura explains the power of wishes, and Madoka begins to come apart at the seams.
(As of this chapter, posting is going to be slowed down to every two days rather than every day, to give me more time to write the later chapters. Thanks to everyone who's been following/commenting/kudosing so far!)
***
April 2
(Continued)
"Why do you want to know about wishes?" demanded Homura, heels clacking on the steps at her brisk descent. "Has someone been talking to you?"
"Akemi-san, I've been here," said Madoka plaintively. "How could anyone talk to me?"
"Answer the question!"
Madoka stepped back from the foot of the stairs to make way for her. "There's nobody else. I guessed on my own. When you got...upset...." Was there any delicate way to refer to the episode? And too much detail might set Homura off again. "...it started when we talked about wishes."
Homura waved for her to sit down. She produced a flash drive and tossed it carelessly onto the desk, her aim perfect though its trajectory barely missed Madoka's head, then sat on her heels across the rug from Madoka and held up a box of sakura-mochi.
Unbidden, Madoka's mouth started to water.
"The packaging is unbroken," said Homura. "But I can test them anyway, if you like."
"Th-that's okay," said Madoka. Homura probably knew the sweet pink rice balls were one of her favorite foods. A gesture of goodwill, or an attempt to buy Madoka's favor? No way to tell. But surely that didn't mean she couldn't eat them anyway...cautiously.
Homura glanced at her bandaged hand. "Shall I open them for you?"
Madoka flushed. "Yes, please."
She waited in silence while Homura sheared off the plastic wrapping, wondering how long to wait before prodding for more information. Homura peeled back the cardboard flaps one by one, as if she were opening an ancient treasure chest rather than getting through a bit of packing that would be thrown away in a few minutes anyhow. The knees of her stockings, Madoka realized, were scraped: the fabric turned to ragged threads, though the skin underneath looked fresh. Between the high socks Homura had worn with her school uniform and the omnipresent diamond-patterned tights of her costume, this was the first time Madoka had seen her knees.
Their fingers brushed when Homura finally handed over the sakura-mochi. Madoka felt instantly guilty that she would have traded the whole box for another minute of human touch.
"Wishes are the bait the Incubator uses," said Homura, without preamble. "The deal he offers is for one wish. Anything you can imagine, you can ask for."
Madoka still didn't know what the Incubator looked like, and had no idea how to picture something that powerful. An image flashed across her mind, a high dark mountain encircled with screaming winds. She shuddered. "Is he really that strong?"
"He's not strong at all," Homura hissed. "His victims are the ones with the power; he only knows a trick to unlock it. And while every wish has a cost, he's never the one to pay it. He doesn't even explain it."
She didn't elaborate. Madoka nibbled on a rice ball and wondered if this was supposed to be her cue to ask.
"He's a deceiver with a silver tongue." Homura seemed to be talking to herself now, or rehearsing lines from a half-forgotten play. Her eyes were focused on something far from the little room. "He's seduced the brave and the wise, the strong and the pure-hearted. Especially since he comes to them at times of tragedy, when need is stronger than good judgment." Still looking away, she continued: "You know something of that now, Kaname Madoka. If a small figure had appeared to you the first night you were here, and offered you a deal to get home, how many questions would you have asked?"
"Maybe none," admitted Madoka. "But, Akemi-san...."
Homura went silent, waiting for her to proceed.
"You say the Incubator is evil because he offers false choices," stammered Madoka. "But you didn't even offer me a choice at all."
The other girl tensed. "The choice is between living and dying. I already know which you would prefer."
"If you're sure of it, then why not ask me honestly?" Her leg was starting to ache from the way she was sitting on it. Ignoring the dull throb, she pressed unsteadily on: "I was ready to spend time with you when we first met, remember? I had no reason not to trust you. You could have showed me your powers, warned me right away...."
"...and held your broken body in the wreckage of the battle feeling glad because at least my hands were clean?"
The razor's-edge behind her voice made Madoka shut up.
When Homura continued, the bitterness had softened, but not vanished. "Your life is not worth throwing away for the sake of my moral high ground. Even though I've promised to release you when the time is right...can you honestly tell me, Kaname Madoka, that you would not still be tempted by the chance to return to your family this moment? No matter what the price?"
Madoka's chest tightened with the effort of not blurting yes. "Y-you still haven't told me the Incubator's price, Akemi-san."
"He takes your soul," said Homura flatly. "You are left with nothing but the magic awakened by your wish. From then on you have no destiny except to wage a secret war alone, until you are killed in battle or too worn-out to die a human death."
Left with magic.... "Akemi-san...you...?"
Homura inclined her head in an almost modest nod. "I made a wish. I became a puella magi. For me, there is no future any more."
"It isn't right!" burst out Madoka. (It might all be a trick to win your sympathy, pointed out her inner Mama-voice. Looking at Homura's lacerated stockings, she pushed it aside.) "You shouldn't have to give up. No matter what's happened. You should have friends to believe in you even when you can't...to help you make things better...maybe to find out how to stop the Incubator...! There are other puella magi, right? You're all on the same side...I don't see why you couldn't...."
Homura took in Madoka's heaving shoulders, the clenched fingers of her uninjured hand and the hot tears blurring her vision, and said without blinking, "All of my friends have died."
In spite of herself, in spite of everything, Madoka tried to take Homura's hand.
"I'm sorry, Kaname Madoka," whispered Homura, and vanished without waiting for a reply.
***
Steam rose from the rapidly filling tub, fogging over the mirror and soothing her puffy, sore eyes.
Madoka did a halfhearted round of stretches. Right arm across chest...left elbow over head...lean forward on right knee...hold up left leg behind back...had she gotten them all? Probably. Did it matter? Was it even a school day?
A sudden lack of time-sense made her dizzy. Wearing nothing but a white bra and a pair of striped panties, she burst out of the bathroom, ignoring the tiled floor cold and rough aganist her bare feet, and didn't catch her breath until the grid of the notepad calendar lay across her vision. Saturday. Right then.
With trembling hand she inked in another row of dates, urging herself not to panic at how long the calendar was getting. They didn't have to represent days down here, after all. They were simply dates she planned to go through, even after she got out.
Still, she tore her gaze away almost before the last stroke was scratched.
***
April 3
Sunday
When she unwrapped the next round of bandages, Madoka found her palm sore and tender, but no longer prone to fresh bleeding at a wrong turn. Panda-san, flanked by the two rabbits, watched from the bed as she massaged lotion into it, then left it in the open air.
The panda was next in line for medical care: a patch of his soft white fur had gone stiff with salt where she had cried into it the night before. After rereading the instructions on his tag, Madoka wet a spare sock under the faucet, sat on the closed toilet, and dabbed until the stain as tenderly as she would have one of Tatusya's skinned knees.
I still don't trust her, grumbled her inner Sayaka. Her story's too neat. She played you too well.
Madoka didn't answer.
***
She was sitting up in bed when Homura came down the stairs, reading through an assigned chapter in the science textbook. It didn't make a lot of sense. There were probably explanations on one of the flash drives she hadn't gotten to yet.
Instead of fresh food, Homura carried a garbage bag, into which she emptied the trash can in the main room before stepping into the bathroom and disappearing briefly from view. When she returned, the garbage bag was nowhere to be seen.
"Is there anything you need, Kaname Madoka?" she asked.
Madoka kept her gaze fixed on her book. "I...I don't know."
The answer seemed to flummox Homura. "Do you have...more questions?" she tried. "Is there some food you're running low on? Can I bring you anything?"
"I would like more sweet potatoes," admitted Madoka.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught Homura's nod. "I will bring some tomorrow. Is there anything else?"
Go away, thought Madoka desperately. I don't know what's right any more. I can't trust my own feelings. You confuse them too much. "No."
Homura didn't leave. "The Incubator has approached your friend. Miki Sayaka. She is tempted. There is someone for whom she believes she could sacrifice anything."
Madoka guessed in an instant who was meant. She hadn't known Kamijou Kyousuke that well, but Hitomi had taken a lot of music classes with him before the accident, and Sayaka had been a friend of his since childhood. Ever since he'd been in the hospital, Sayaka was doing everything she could to be the boy's knight in shining armor. It was all too easy to imagine her spending a magical wish for his sake, even if she knew the full price up front.
"I will watch out for them as best I can," said Homura.
Don't thank her! wailed the inner Sayaka. I can take care of myself! Obediently, Madoka settled for a silent nod.
"You are...a kind person." The dark-haired girl was nearly stammering now; how genuine it was, Madoka hadn't the faintest idea. "It can make you...vulnerable...but it's your best quality."
When Madoka said nothing, Homura turned to go, taking the stairs on her narrow heels again rather than evaporating. Madoka dug the fingers of her good hand into the beige rabbit's stuffed head so hard they turned white, and bit her tongue until she heard the door shut.
***
April 4
Monday
The book hit the wall with a smack and dropped to the ground, pages flapping.
Madoka stared at it, breathing heavily, only half understanding what had just happened. Of course her arm had thrown it, but it might as well have up and flown across the room under its own power for all the control she had felt. One minute she'd been staring at Homura's notes and realizing they weren't detailed enough to help, and the next, wham!
A powerful urge to apologize
washed over her...followed by a wave of disorientation as she realized the absurdity of it. Who was she imagining she'd apologize to?
On impulse she grabbed her most recent plate, still streaked orange from its cargo of freshly diced sweet potatoes, and sent it arcing like a Frisbee across the room. It bounced off the doorjamb of the bathroom, dinged the door itself, and spun wildly on the cement where it touched down.
What did it matter? Who cared? All the time she played this game of real-world, reality itself was far away, moving forward without her. Nobody would expect her to keep pace with classes while locked in this ghoulish pseudo-bedroom of a time capsule. The only person who might take notice was Homura, and even tearing these rooms apart couldn't make her nearly as upset as everything she'd done to Madoka. There certainly was no reason to respect the rooms themselves. Madoka hoped they were filled with dirt as soon as she got out.
She leaped for the discarded textbook, grabbed half a dozen pages, and tore them from its spine with a satisfying rip. Another handful came out, and another. Balls of crumpled paper went flying through the air like popcorn. She swatted at a few that landed near her, using the spine of the book as a makeshift bat, then slung the whole thing aside without caring where it landed.
It helped. It felt real. More real than she had felt in...oh, much longer than a week. Maybe ever.
Stuffed animals landed too softly, though she got a few good whacks of paper balls by gathering the monkey's floppy in her fist to make a button-eyed club. The first item in the fridge she got her hands on—a head of lettuce—sailed like a lumpy bowling ball and thudded happily against the green walls. Snatching it up, she raced to the top of the stairs and enlisted gravity's help in her wild, impromptu game.
By the time she exhausted herself, her twintails had come loose long ago. One lavender ribbon lay discarded midway up the steps, while the other still clung valiantly her shoulder. She yanked it off, tossed it aside, and stumbled down to the bed, shaking with manic laughter until her breath caught and her eyes watered, hair flying free across the pillows.
***
April 5
Tuesday
Homura stepped over a trail of wilted lettuce shreds without comment.
Madoka lay on her back on the mattress, still in the previous day's clothes, one of the untouched idol magazines unfolded over her face. She didn't move until an unfamiliar squelching noise, followed by a cascade of water, caught her attention.
"Don't bother," muttered Madoka, watching Homura mop up smeared sweet potatoes out of the corner of her eye. (She wasn't carrying a bucket. Where had all that soapy water come from?) "Doesn't matter. It's not worth it."
"You are always worth it, Kaname Madoka," said Homura flatly. "If you feel sick, please tell me."
Madoka closed her eyes.
***
April 6
Wednesday
Nothing was important enough to drag her out of bed. Nothing in this room could be worth bothering to leave the comfort of her blankets and the soft embrace of the few stuffed animals she hadn't trashed.
Nothing...except that the computer had looped this playlist six times in a row.
Madoka kicked off the blankets, brushing away crumbs from the sweet bun she'd had by way of breakfast. As long as she was getting up anyway, she should probably shower, right? The air was so stuffy in here already, it was going to be unbearable if she didn't. And a shower wouldn't be less soothing than a warm bed, just different. And....
The music program clicked back to the first song. Madoka barely noticed. Her attention had been arrested by the corner of the screen.
Homura was four minutes late.
Madoka's heart began to race. She felt dizzy, her throat choked. It's only a few minutes, she thought firmly. It's fine.
In spite of her insistence, the walls and ceiling refused to stop closing in.
She pushed back the chair and sprawled out on the floor, stretching her arms and legs to their fullest extreme. "There's plenty of space," she said out loud. "Look at it! Feel it! It's the same as ever. More than enough, see?"
The lightheadedness began to recede.
"She's probably stopped for a pastry somewhere," continued Madoka. Talking to herself felt a little embarrassing; she sought out Panda-san's ears poking over the edge of the bed, and addressed the rest of it him. "Or someone who isn't very bright asked her for directions."
Unwilling to try standing just yet, she crawled across the floor to the mini-fridge.
"Or maybe the police took her in for questioning," she went on, pouring herself a glass of cold water. "They could be getting clues about me right now! Maybe they'll be here as soon as tonight. I have to look strong and happy when they find me, so they won't be too hard on Akemi."
The stuffed panda's eyes twinkled at her, as if to say, I don't want you to leave. There are enemies out there.
"Sayaka knows Tomoe Mami. I'll ask for her help," resolved Madoka. "I'll tell her all about the Incubator. And I will absolutely not make any wishes. As for witches, well, they've existed all my life, haven't they? I won't be in more danger than anyone else."
And if a witch was the reason Homura was late...?
"The fight could be taking a bit longer than usual." Madoka tried not to picture the assortment of holes, charring, and damage she'd seen on Homura's costume. "She'll still win in the end, of course. She always does, eventually."
And if—
"I'll be fine!" shouted Madoka. Her voice rang around the too-small room. "There's fresh air, unlimited water, plenty of food! She's only six minutes late...when she could go missing for days and I still wouldn't starve...."
The cup slipped from her shaking hands. Water spilled across the floor, burbling along the dips in the cement until it reached the edge of the throw rug. A dark spot began to soak into the fabric.
A brief but vivid image descended like a smothering blanket: her fallen body on that same floor, injured and with no help on the way, blood flowing across the ground and staining whatever it met. The dainty replica of a girl's bedroom turned into a luxury coffin.
Her sight returned just in time to watch the second hand sweep past the seven-minute mark.
With an incoherent whine, Madoka splashed through the puddle and clambered up the steps. The relative darkness here made the passage feel twice as narrow, but when she splayed her hand against the door, it calmed her like a talisman. No matter that she couldn't see it—the sunlight and birdsong and wide-open spaces were there.
She collapsed against the cold iron, breathing, listening.
Without a clock to march it along, time dragged its heels, maybe stopped altogether for all she knew.
And then: creaking boards, footsteps.
"Hello?" croaked Madoka. She gulped and tried again, a proper shout this time, while pounding on the door. "Hello! I'm in here! Please, come over here...."
The footsteps got louder....
"Kaname Madoka," said the muffled voice of Homura. "Please move away from the door."
"You're late!" screamed Madoka, fists clenched against the metal as she quaked. "You said you'd be here. You promised! You have no right to keep me here if you're going to abandon me!"
Homura had to raise her voice to be heard. "I'm truly sorry. I was...delayed. It was not avoidable. I dealt with the problem as quickly as I could."
"And what if you can't deal with the next one, huh? What if next time you die??"
"If I am incapacitated for more than a day, a message explaining your situation will be sent to several puella magi of my acquaintance. Whatever they think of me, they will not hesitate to retrieve you."
"Why didn't you tell me?" wailed Madoka.
Homura's reply was slow in coming. "Please go downstairs. I am carrying something for you. I will explain as much as I can after I am able to put it down."
Still trembling with fury and relief, Madoka made her way to the foot of the steps. She refused to retreat any farther. She would see that sliver of the world visible through the open door, if only to assure herself that it was still there.
The lock clicked, the light poured in, and all other thought flew from Madoka's mind.
Homura descended cautiously, mindful not to let the body over her shoulders knock against the wall.
"Sayaka-chan!"
Characters/Pairings: Homura, Madoka, (skip) Sayaka
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer/Warnings: See table of contents.
Homura explains the power of wishes, and Madoka begins to come apart at the seams.
(As of this chapter, posting is going to be slowed down to every two days rather than every day, to give me more time to write the later chapters. Thanks to everyone who's been following/commenting/kudosing so far!)
***
April 2
(Continued)
"Why do you want to know about wishes?" demanded Homura, heels clacking on the steps at her brisk descent. "Has someone been talking to you?"
"Akemi-san, I've been here," said Madoka plaintively. "How could anyone talk to me?"
"Answer the question!"
Madoka stepped back from the foot of the stairs to make way for her. "There's nobody else. I guessed on my own. When you got...upset...." Was there any delicate way to refer to the episode? And too much detail might set Homura off again. "...it started when we talked about wishes."
Homura waved for her to sit down. She produced a flash drive and tossed it carelessly onto the desk, her aim perfect though its trajectory barely missed Madoka's head, then sat on her heels across the rug from Madoka and held up a box of sakura-mochi.
Unbidden, Madoka's mouth started to water.
"The packaging is unbroken," said Homura. "But I can test them anyway, if you like."
"Th-that's okay," said Madoka. Homura probably knew the sweet pink rice balls were one of her favorite foods. A gesture of goodwill, or an attempt to buy Madoka's favor? No way to tell. But surely that didn't mean she couldn't eat them anyway...cautiously.
Homura glanced at her bandaged hand. "Shall I open them for you?"
Madoka flushed. "Yes, please."
She waited in silence while Homura sheared off the plastic wrapping, wondering how long to wait before prodding for more information. Homura peeled back the cardboard flaps one by one, as if she were opening an ancient treasure chest rather than getting through a bit of packing that would be thrown away in a few minutes anyhow. The knees of her stockings, Madoka realized, were scraped: the fabric turned to ragged threads, though the skin underneath looked fresh. Between the high socks Homura had worn with her school uniform and the omnipresent diamond-patterned tights of her costume, this was the first time Madoka had seen her knees.
Their fingers brushed when Homura finally handed over the sakura-mochi. Madoka felt instantly guilty that she would have traded the whole box for another minute of human touch.
"Wishes are the bait the Incubator uses," said Homura, without preamble. "The deal he offers is for one wish. Anything you can imagine, you can ask for."
Madoka still didn't know what the Incubator looked like, and had no idea how to picture something that powerful. An image flashed across her mind, a high dark mountain encircled with screaming winds. She shuddered. "Is he really that strong?"
"He's not strong at all," Homura hissed. "His victims are the ones with the power; he only knows a trick to unlock it. And while every wish has a cost, he's never the one to pay it. He doesn't even explain it."
She didn't elaborate. Madoka nibbled on a rice ball and wondered if this was supposed to be her cue to ask.
"He's a deceiver with a silver tongue." Homura seemed to be talking to herself now, or rehearsing lines from a half-forgotten play. Her eyes were focused on something far from the little room. "He's seduced the brave and the wise, the strong and the pure-hearted. Especially since he comes to them at times of tragedy, when need is stronger than good judgment." Still looking away, she continued: "You know something of that now, Kaname Madoka. If a small figure had appeared to you the first night you were here, and offered you a deal to get home, how many questions would you have asked?"
"Maybe none," admitted Madoka. "But, Akemi-san...."
Homura went silent, waiting for her to proceed.
"You say the Incubator is evil because he offers false choices," stammered Madoka. "But you didn't even offer me a choice at all."
The other girl tensed. "The choice is between living and dying. I already know which you would prefer."
"If you're sure of it, then why not ask me honestly?" Her leg was starting to ache from the way she was sitting on it. Ignoring the dull throb, she pressed unsteadily on: "I was ready to spend time with you when we first met, remember? I had no reason not to trust you. You could have showed me your powers, warned me right away...."
"...and held your broken body in the wreckage of the battle feeling glad because at least my hands were clean?"
The razor's-edge behind her voice made Madoka shut up.
When Homura continued, the bitterness had softened, but not vanished. "Your life is not worth throwing away for the sake of my moral high ground. Even though I've promised to release you when the time is right...can you honestly tell me, Kaname Madoka, that you would not still be tempted by the chance to return to your family this moment? No matter what the price?"
Madoka's chest tightened with the effort of not blurting yes. "Y-you still haven't told me the Incubator's price, Akemi-san."
"He takes your soul," said Homura flatly. "You are left with nothing but the magic awakened by your wish. From then on you have no destiny except to wage a secret war alone, until you are killed in battle or too worn-out to die a human death."
Left with magic.... "Akemi-san...you...?"
Homura inclined her head in an almost modest nod. "I made a wish. I became a puella magi. For me, there is no future any more."
"It isn't right!" burst out Madoka. (It might all be a trick to win your sympathy, pointed out her inner Mama-voice. Looking at Homura's lacerated stockings, she pushed it aside.) "You shouldn't have to give up. No matter what's happened. You should have friends to believe in you even when you can't...to help you make things better...maybe to find out how to stop the Incubator...! There are other puella magi, right? You're all on the same side...I don't see why you couldn't...."
Homura took in Madoka's heaving shoulders, the clenched fingers of her uninjured hand and the hot tears blurring her vision, and said without blinking, "All of my friends have died."
In spite of herself, in spite of everything, Madoka tried to take Homura's hand.
"I'm sorry, Kaname Madoka," whispered Homura, and vanished without waiting for a reply.
***
Steam rose from the rapidly filling tub, fogging over the mirror and soothing her puffy, sore eyes.
Madoka did a halfhearted round of stretches. Right arm across chest...left elbow over head...lean forward on right knee...hold up left leg behind back...had she gotten them all? Probably. Did it matter? Was it even a school day?
A sudden lack of time-sense made her dizzy. Wearing nothing but a white bra and a pair of striped panties, she burst out of the bathroom, ignoring the tiled floor cold and rough aganist her bare feet, and didn't catch her breath until the grid of the notepad calendar lay across her vision. Saturday. Right then.
With trembling hand she inked in another row of dates, urging herself not to panic at how long the calendar was getting. They didn't have to represent days down here, after all. They were simply dates she planned to go through, even after she got out.
Still, she tore her gaze away almost before the last stroke was scratched.
***
April 3
Sunday
When she unwrapped the next round of bandages, Madoka found her palm sore and tender, but no longer prone to fresh bleeding at a wrong turn. Panda-san, flanked by the two rabbits, watched from the bed as she massaged lotion into it, then left it in the open air.
The panda was next in line for medical care: a patch of his soft white fur had gone stiff with salt where she had cried into it the night before. After rereading the instructions on his tag, Madoka wet a spare sock under the faucet, sat on the closed toilet, and dabbed until the stain as tenderly as she would have one of Tatusya's skinned knees.
I still don't trust her, grumbled her inner Sayaka. Her story's too neat. She played you too well.
Madoka didn't answer.
***
She was sitting up in bed when Homura came down the stairs, reading through an assigned chapter in the science textbook. It didn't make a lot of sense. There were probably explanations on one of the flash drives she hadn't gotten to yet.
Instead of fresh food, Homura carried a garbage bag, into which she emptied the trash can in the main room before stepping into the bathroom and disappearing briefly from view. When she returned, the garbage bag was nowhere to be seen.
"Is there anything you need, Kaname Madoka?" she asked.
Madoka kept her gaze fixed on her book. "I...I don't know."
The answer seemed to flummox Homura. "Do you have...more questions?" she tried. "Is there some food you're running low on? Can I bring you anything?"
"I would like more sweet potatoes," admitted Madoka.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught Homura's nod. "I will bring some tomorrow. Is there anything else?"
Go away, thought Madoka desperately. I don't know what's right any more. I can't trust my own feelings. You confuse them too much. "No."
Homura didn't leave. "The Incubator has approached your friend. Miki Sayaka. She is tempted. There is someone for whom she believes she could sacrifice anything."
Madoka guessed in an instant who was meant. She hadn't known Kamijou Kyousuke that well, but Hitomi had taken a lot of music classes with him before the accident, and Sayaka had been a friend of his since childhood. Ever since he'd been in the hospital, Sayaka was doing everything she could to be the boy's knight in shining armor. It was all too easy to imagine her spending a magical wish for his sake, even if she knew the full price up front.
"I will watch out for them as best I can," said Homura.
Don't thank her! wailed the inner Sayaka. I can take care of myself! Obediently, Madoka settled for a silent nod.
"You are...a kind person." The dark-haired girl was nearly stammering now; how genuine it was, Madoka hadn't the faintest idea. "It can make you...vulnerable...but it's your best quality."
When Madoka said nothing, Homura turned to go, taking the stairs on her narrow heels again rather than evaporating. Madoka dug the fingers of her good hand into the beige rabbit's stuffed head so hard they turned white, and bit her tongue until she heard the door shut.
***
April 4
Monday
The book hit the wall with a smack and dropped to the ground, pages flapping.
Madoka stared at it, breathing heavily, only half understanding what had just happened. Of course her arm had thrown it, but it might as well have up and flown across the room under its own power for all the control she had felt. One minute she'd been staring at Homura's notes and realizing they weren't detailed enough to help, and the next, wham!
A powerful urge to apologize
washed over her...followed by a wave of disorientation as she realized the absurdity of it. Who was she imagining she'd apologize to?
On impulse she grabbed her most recent plate, still streaked orange from its cargo of freshly diced sweet potatoes, and sent it arcing like a Frisbee across the room. It bounced off the doorjamb of the bathroom, dinged the door itself, and spun wildly on the cement where it touched down.
What did it matter? Who cared? All the time she played this game of real-world, reality itself was far away, moving forward without her. Nobody would expect her to keep pace with classes while locked in this ghoulish pseudo-bedroom of a time capsule. The only person who might take notice was Homura, and even tearing these rooms apart couldn't make her nearly as upset as everything she'd done to Madoka. There certainly was no reason to respect the rooms themselves. Madoka hoped they were filled with dirt as soon as she got out.
She leaped for the discarded textbook, grabbed half a dozen pages, and tore them from its spine with a satisfying rip. Another handful came out, and another. Balls of crumpled paper went flying through the air like popcorn. She swatted at a few that landed near her, using the spine of the book as a makeshift bat, then slung the whole thing aside without caring where it landed.
It helped. It felt real. More real than she had felt in...oh, much longer than a week. Maybe ever.
Stuffed animals landed too softly, though she got a few good whacks of paper balls by gathering the monkey's floppy in her fist to make a button-eyed club. The first item in the fridge she got her hands on—a head of lettuce—sailed like a lumpy bowling ball and thudded happily against the green walls. Snatching it up, she raced to the top of the stairs and enlisted gravity's help in her wild, impromptu game.
By the time she exhausted herself, her twintails had come loose long ago. One lavender ribbon lay discarded midway up the steps, while the other still clung valiantly her shoulder. She yanked it off, tossed it aside, and stumbled down to the bed, shaking with manic laughter until her breath caught and her eyes watered, hair flying free across the pillows.
***
April 5
Tuesday
Homura stepped over a trail of wilted lettuce shreds without comment.
Madoka lay on her back on the mattress, still in the previous day's clothes, one of the untouched idol magazines unfolded over her face. She didn't move until an unfamiliar squelching noise, followed by a cascade of water, caught her attention.
"Don't bother," muttered Madoka, watching Homura mop up smeared sweet potatoes out of the corner of her eye. (She wasn't carrying a bucket. Where had all that soapy water come from?) "Doesn't matter. It's not worth it."
"You are always worth it, Kaname Madoka," said Homura flatly. "If you feel sick, please tell me."
Madoka closed her eyes.
***
April 6
Wednesday
Nothing was important enough to drag her out of bed. Nothing in this room could be worth bothering to leave the comfort of her blankets and the soft embrace of the few stuffed animals she hadn't trashed.
Nothing...except that the computer had looped this playlist six times in a row.
Madoka kicked off the blankets, brushing away crumbs from the sweet bun she'd had by way of breakfast. As long as she was getting up anyway, she should probably shower, right? The air was so stuffy in here already, it was going to be unbearable if she didn't. And a shower wouldn't be less soothing than a warm bed, just different. And....
The music program clicked back to the first song. Madoka barely noticed. Her attention had been arrested by the corner of the screen.
Homura was four minutes late.
Madoka's heart began to race. She felt dizzy, her throat choked. It's only a few minutes, she thought firmly. It's fine.
In spite of her insistence, the walls and ceiling refused to stop closing in.
She pushed back the chair and sprawled out on the floor, stretching her arms and legs to their fullest extreme. "There's plenty of space," she said out loud. "Look at it! Feel it! It's the same as ever. More than enough, see?"
The lightheadedness began to recede.
"She's probably stopped for a pastry somewhere," continued Madoka. Talking to herself felt a little embarrassing; she sought out Panda-san's ears poking over the edge of the bed, and addressed the rest of it him. "Or someone who isn't very bright asked her for directions."
Unwilling to try standing just yet, she crawled across the floor to the mini-fridge.
"Or maybe the police took her in for questioning," she went on, pouring herself a glass of cold water. "They could be getting clues about me right now! Maybe they'll be here as soon as tonight. I have to look strong and happy when they find me, so they won't be too hard on Akemi."
The stuffed panda's eyes twinkled at her, as if to say, I don't want you to leave. There are enemies out there.
"Sayaka knows Tomoe Mami. I'll ask for her help," resolved Madoka. "I'll tell her all about the Incubator. And I will absolutely not make any wishes. As for witches, well, they've existed all my life, haven't they? I won't be in more danger than anyone else."
And if a witch was the reason Homura was late...?
"The fight could be taking a bit longer than usual." Madoka tried not to picture the assortment of holes, charring, and damage she'd seen on Homura's costume. "She'll still win in the end, of course. She always does, eventually."
And if—
"I'll be fine!" shouted Madoka. Her voice rang around the too-small room. "There's fresh air, unlimited water, plenty of food! She's only six minutes late...when she could go missing for days and I still wouldn't starve...."
The cup slipped from her shaking hands. Water spilled across the floor, burbling along the dips in the cement until it reached the edge of the throw rug. A dark spot began to soak into the fabric.
A brief but vivid image descended like a smothering blanket: her fallen body on that same floor, injured and with no help on the way, blood flowing across the ground and staining whatever it met. The dainty replica of a girl's bedroom turned into a luxury coffin.
Her sight returned just in time to watch the second hand sweep past the seven-minute mark.
With an incoherent whine, Madoka splashed through the puddle and clambered up the steps. The relative darkness here made the passage feel twice as narrow, but when she splayed her hand against the door, it calmed her like a talisman. No matter that she couldn't see it—the sunlight and birdsong and wide-open spaces were there.
She collapsed against the cold iron, breathing, listening.
Without a clock to march it along, time dragged its heels, maybe stopped altogether for all she knew.
And then: creaking boards, footsteps.
"Hello?" croaked Madoka. She gulped and tried again, a proper shout this time, while pounding on the door. "Hello! I'm in here! Please, come over here...."
The footsteps got louder....
"Kaname Madoka," said the muffled voice of Homura. "Please move away from the door."
"You're late!" screamed Madoka, fists clenched against the metal as she quaked. "You said you'd be here. You promised! You have no right to keep me here if you're going to abandon me!"
Homura had to raise her voice to be heard. "I'm truly sorry. I was...delayed. It was not avoidable. I dealt with the problem as quickly as I could."
"And what if you can't deal with the next one, huh? What if next time you die??"
"If I am incapacitated for more than a day, a message explaining your situation will be sent to several puella magi of my acquaintance. Whatever they think of me, they will not hesitate to retrieve you."
"Why didn't you tell me?" wailed Madoka.
Homura's reply was slow in coming. "Please go downstairs. I am carrying something for you. I will explain as much as I can after I am able to put it down."
Still trembling with fury and relief, Madoka made her way to the foot of the steps. She refused to retreat any farther. She would see that sliver of the world visible through the open door, if only to assure herself that it was still there.
The lock clicked, the light poured in, and all other thought flew from Madoka's mind.
Homura descended cautiously, mindful not to let the body over her shoulders knock against the wall.
"Sayaka-chan!"
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