when the sky turns an unnatural color, homura can't make it through the day.
you see, the morning light should be a soft purple, or lavender. the twilight sky should be rosy, swiping into indigo. of course, sometimes it's the reverse, which means rain. rain is fine.
but, it's the times when a sickening grey kind of mist settles along mitakihara that the ebony-haired girl feels her bones shake. it reminds her of her homulilly labyrinth. it indicates an atmosphere sickened and weak with an acidic pollution of chemicals. chemicals that threaten the precious cycle of the übermadchen, but that some foolish men argue is the result of it.
they wouldn't be entirely wrong. this new world is homura's after all, and she is the existence known as evil. but, she's still better than the weepy christ of immanuel kant, and so are the girls she's strengthened, the most powerful being madoka.
but they are wrong, because men were the first ones to put mahou shoujo up for slaughter. faustian men searched out kyuubei, known to the west as "the devil," and the little rabbit-cat only knew how to respond in kind. only homura has been able to dominate the creature. the creature owes its loyalties to girls. the creature has tried to reason with girls. men play no part in this game, and yet they complain. adam and even adam kadmon have them stupefied into plato and the enlightenment and sodomy and war.
there are curses rampant across the world, and kyuubei does all he can beneath homura's instructions to weaken men and drain them of their evil. less often do people have nightmares, less often are they possessed by wraiths. yet their stupidity leads them to believe that when there are nightmares and wraiths, the world must worry itself into a frenzy.
what people should worry about is the sky: homura and madoka's precious rainbow, the spectrum between goddess and demoness. for madoka is beyond red and breathed into white (spirit), and homura is beyond violet and released into light (lucifer). and within their still-nubile bodies, princesses of this universe, is the black void which absorbs every color in-between and contrasts.
homura's vortex will always be the secret, floral entrance into madoka's womb. as her pious disciple, she worships and fears it, and madoka doesn't tell her that for every shuddering climax she gives her she remembers everything. well, she tells her in her own way. madoka becomes homura's morning light. each soft strand of pink is a wisp of cloud from the infinite. her eyes turning golden is homura's eden. her mouth fills with the morning dew, and the sweetness of fruit, honey and flowers, when she remembers who made her goddess.
homura won't have it on those strange days with strange skies. she remembers teeth, spider lilies, guillotines and the roman coliseum. refuse. a broken, crayoned rainbow that doesn't know hope. fire, everywhere. her wicked familiars.
madoka must be the dominant those days, must rock the hopelessness out of her lover, her devil. and homura despises it, and herself. despises mami and sayaka and kyouko and that witch charlotte. whispers to madoka that she wishes she could tear herself from loins to bellybutton, like the parting in her hair from so many years of braided pigtails, and bleed out her organs. madoka must then tie her red fate-ribbons around homura's neck and pull and drive homura to the brink of non-existence, just to coax her back to breath and love and life-giving moisture.
on normal days, madoka is crystal and righteousness and perfumed gardens. she writhes under homura like a girl enjoying a canopy bed. "your hair is your veil, homura-chan," when it falls down to occult their kissing on the lilac-littered hill overlooking the city. madoka's sex is a lotus, her breasts lily-soft valleys.
"you're giving nippon a chance to return to its darkness," she assures homura. "i honor it; i love you, my enemy."
homura bites her thighs leaving bruises, raging that she should be hated for what she's done to madoka and the world. it only instigates more love and desire in the other woman.
"you want them - oh..." madoka whines as her lover's slick mouth reaches her slit. "...to understand you. to know - homura! to know it's an illusion... and to hate you for it... because they'd prefer their wraiths and nightmares commonplace!"
homura reaches up and quiets that truthful mouth of madoka's with her own. she rubs at her with fingers. madoka spills arousal into homura's hand begging that they form the circle. in truth, madoka loves homura more. homura loves humanity, and has fought for it, and will fight for it, and grow darker and demonic and more beautiful, more profound and despairing.
when madoka puts her mouth on her, and feels homura do the same simultaneously, she can sense the girl's connectedness with the world and nature. she can taste fear and love and chaos. homura is needy and silken, and stinging like lavender. she feels homura smile against her most sensitive flesh.
as goddess, madoka flies above the mundane, into the full, bright white moon, while homura will always fly like icarus into the sun and burn. so, homura is frightened of unnatural stormy skies, and time moving linearly, and people not worshiping the goddess she, the übermadchen, created.
red against black turns to earth, madoka's cavernous heart and her self-sacrificing corpus. violet against black turns to night-sky, projecting the billions of stars homura would push further out so as to expand her mistress' domain.
"rescue them over again," homura breathes against madoka's little pink roses (lips, fingertips, tips of her breasts). "rescue me."
"i will because you have," madoka replies, stroking around homura's lovely lavender eyes. she nuzzles the shy transfer student she's followed in one hundred timelines and two new universes.
outside the toxic rain pours down on the doomed city, grey.
the next day, both girls burst forth red rain as a result of their cycle. they would have it that the energy from that emotion heal homura's world's ignorance.
kyuubei trembles in defeat.
artwork by silver on pixiv