I imagine it was. It seemed ... so satisfied, those few times I saw it in the wake of another one of her deaths. But you're right. I got stronger, but never strong enough. [ echoed quietly, a confirmation. ] Everything I tried always led to the same ending. Different variations of it, maybe ... but in the end, the same thing.

[ Madoka dies, or Madoka gives herself up. Madoka sacrifices herself, this final time so thoroughly the universe rewrote itself around her, without her. Both, at the same time.

(everything Homura ever did only made things worse. she's watched all of them die so many times she's lost count. try to befriend them, or push them away. support them, or try to horrify them with the truth? work together, or do it all alone.

it was always going to end like this, the conclusion to this story the same as how it all began. book ends: Homura, caught in a hopeless situation, wavering and unsure, and Madoka stepping in to save her.) ]

All I can do now is protect the memory of her sacrifice. No one else remembers that she existed... well. Her brother, a little. I'm not sure how. But even her mother thinks she's just his imaginary friend. So that's why... the bow, the ribbon, the wings, my magic. All of it is hers.