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Kaname Madoka was gone.
The world continued to spin, oblivious to the change that happened. The blank space that had appeared overnight. Kaname Madoka had been erased from existence. Not just her physical self, but the very memory of her. Only a faint echo of her existence remained. A lingering feeling that something was missing.
She was a martyr, a gentle soul who chose to sacrifice herself for the sake of the world and all magical girls from the past, present, and future. On her shoulders, she carried the collective pain of all magical girls across all universes. She was a hero, a magical girl who used her power to rewrite the universe just so girls wouldn’t have to go through pain any longer. She protected them from the cruel fate of becoming witches.
And yet, nobody knew what she had done nor who she had been. Her sacrifice went unnoticed by the world. There were no rewards, no medals, no monuments in her honor.
It was a tricky thing to be a God. To exist yet not at all. To be neither dead nor alive. To be everywhere all the time yet nowhere none of the time. One moment, she was a speck of stardust in the cosmos. The next, she had a material form, appearing as a guide to help another soul on the verge of despair. Then she’d blink and return to nothingness.
She could see everything in the universe. Or at least she thought it was seeing. It was more like she felt everything across time and space, and then a visual would be projected into her consciousness. From the birth of a star, to the children playing in Mitakihara city’s parks, to the speck of dust in the corner of a convenience store in New York. She could see it all, all at once in a cacophony of sounds, colors, and sensations.
Despite her predicament, Madoka didn’t regret her decision. Yes, it was scary and lonely, and she missed her friends a lot. Sometimes, she wished she could go back to her simple life. However, at the end of the day, she would sacrifice herself for her friends again and again if needed. The memory of them was the only thing that anchored her to her duty.
She did regret one thing.
Homura. Her best friend.
Homura had been there when Madoka’s wish rewrote the universe. That meant she remembered Madoka. She was the only one who did. Madoka wished she could be elated at the prospect of someone remembering her, but all she felt was woe. She witnessed Homura’s sorrow. She saw Homura grieve her “death”. She observed the way she spent her days swallowing in her misery. It hurt to see the person she cared about most suffer because of her absence. Madoka wished she could help Homura. She yearned to talk to her, comfort her, tell her it would be alright, hold her tightly, and rid her of all despondency.
But she couldn’t. She was a law, a concept, a force of nature, a God. A being such as her– if she could even be called one– could not intervene with earthly matters outside of her duty. She was shackled to her divine post.
All she could do was observe.
She continued to watch over the Holy Quintet– Quartet. Mami continued to be a mentor. Sayaka and Kyoko’s friendship had bloomed. Homura had even joined the group, though she only did out of a sense of obligation. For a while, Madoka thought things would look up for her friends. That’s until she had the misfortune of witnessing Homura at her most vulnerable.
Day after day Homura would fight ceaselessly, until her bones hurt and until exhaustion forced her to stop. Then she’d return home and cry for hours about her past, her loneliness, and the pink haired girl that no longer was. One such instance stuck with Madoka. It had been a day like any other, except for the looming feelings that were threatening to explode. Tensions were high in the group, irritation clung to their bodies after a battle that resulted in unnecessary injuries. A callous comment, a few nasty words, a purposely cruel insult, and the scuffle that ensued.
Sayaka and Homura were never the best at getting along.
That day Homura had reached her home solemnly. Her hands begged for her to claw at her skin, her eyes begged for her to let tears spill. Homura took a deep breath, trying to steel herself.
"Madoka..." She started; voice hushed. "This is wrong. This is all so wrong."
Madoka's vision quivered, her divine version of anxiousness. What's wrong? She wanted to ask, but there was no mouth for her to speak. As though she heard her, Homura took a shaky breath before continuing.
"Sayaka, Kyoko, Mami... they're all happy. They all act like nothing happened... like you never existed."
Madoka's abstract form sagged. A feeling of defeat settling in her chest. It'll be okay, Homura. She wanted– no, needed to let her know.
Homura slowly sank down to the floor, her back against a wall. She looked up at the ceiling. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could imagine Madoka was here.
"But I remember. I remember everything. Every smile, every tear shed, every bit of compassion. I remember you, Madoka." She lamented, voice trembling with emotion. Her eyes filled with tears. A nasty feeling bubbled up within her chest, a mess of negative emotions threatening to spill over. It was scalding and ugly and disgusting, like bile rising up one's throat. It hurt more than any physical wound could.
"It hurts so bad. Why? Why did this happen? How can the world be so cruel? I swore to protect you, I did everything in my power, and yet I failed!"
Madoka's form flared momentarily.
You didn–
"Why can't I do anything right!" A booming sound was heard where Homura's fist collided with the floor.
BANG!
"I'm so stupid!"
BANG!
"I'm so useless!"
BANG!
"I'm so worthless!"
Homura wailed, sobs wrecking through her body violently. Her body shook like a leaf to the harsh winds of a hurricane. The hurricane being the whirlwind of emotions that were overflowing from her all at once. Distantly, Madoka felt the familiar pulling of the Law of Cycles. It was less than a second, less than a millisecond. Yet that was all she needed for the sinking feeling to settle within her bones. Her friend was spiraling.
Homura hiccupped and cried, slinking down to lay on the floor. The cool surface only added to her shivering. She clutched her hand to her chest, bruises already blooming on her knuckles.
"...are you even there?"
Yes, yes, I am!
"...are you even...real? How can I be so sure you're not part of my imagination?"
Homura...
"Madoka..."
Madoka's hand reached out. Its inconsistent form shook as it hovered above Homura's shoulder. It's not like she could actually touch her. She knew if she tried, it would only phase through Homura's physical being. Still, she pretended she was placing a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder.
And that was all she could do.
After a while, things did look up. Tensions dissipated, friendships blossomed, and Homura was somewhat happier. This filled the godly being with happiness and relief. Madoka continued to observe Homura with fondness. The black-haired girl hunched over her desk, concentrated on her task. From time to time– that is when she wasn't busy fighting wraiths– Homura would spend her evenings drawing. From beautiful sketches of structures and buildings to the merry faces of Mitakihara city's residents. She had an eye for beauty and the skill to back it up.
Her favorite thing to draw was Madoka. Even before the new order of the world, she had spent hours upon hours drawing her, committing her every curve to memory. She loved to draw her silken hair, the soft curve of her smile, her beautiful golden eyes.
Homura's pencil stopped in its track. Her eyes stared blankly at the half-finished picture of her best friend.
Golden...? No, Madoka didn't have golden eyes. They were blue. Weren't they?
Madoka's form dimmed, making her gasp. She started down at her non-body, its shape seemed more abstract than usual, she realised. Her gaze met Homura's shaking form in panic.
In that moment she knew Homura was forgetting her.
Madoka was aware that Homura remembering her was a miracle. She knew that such blessing was bound to revert or backfire. Yet, the thought of Homura forgetting her hurt her in unimaginable ways. It started slowly, with small things. Homura forgot her eye color, her hair length, what her outfits looked like. Then, it became more and more apparent. Forgetting how they met, core memories shared between them. Eventually... her name.
Then, the fated day arrived.
A force ripped apart at her core. She clawed at her chest, nails tearing at her cosmic being. She tried to shriek. She couldn't. Her eyes filled with tears formed from dying stars, scorching as they trailed down her cheeks. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.
Then, it ceased all at once. The searing fire inside her extinguished, now replaced with a void that ate away at her spirit. Her body shook violently, and the universe trembled with her. She searched– with her all-seeing eyes– for the source of her pain and she found it.
Homura. Her best friend. Her trusted confidant. The person closest to her heart. Homura had forgotten Madoka completely. Not a trace of the pink haired girl remained in her memory. Any evidence of Madoka's existence had vanished. The last memory of Madoka was now a ghost of the past.
Now, Kaname Madoka was truly gone.