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It has been some time since she first entered the pod caverns. She's lost track of it-- it's hard to tell time in this ship to begin with, and so without any sort of measure here it's especially hard.
Homura can't make out the faces of anyone inside. Just a vague silhouette. She knows she's trying to do something nearly impossible. She could look through these pods her entire life and never find Madoka, but she still looks. She said it herself to the others, didn't she? Giving up is the same as dying. Homura judges from the particulars of these people's bodies, their wrists, their ankles. Their hair. She searches for a glimpse of pink in a sea of green and finds nothing; that's alright, she'll keep looking.
On and on her trek goes, up and down the spiralling walkways and stairs. Pausing at every single pod that holds a glimmer of hope, a human figure of a young girl. Illuminating the insides with the light of her soul gem, she can never get their faces to show. What she can see of their bodies usually shows something Madoka doesn't have. A faint scar, a distinct freckle or mole.
She's started from the bottom and is moving her way gradually up. It's easily been a day since she started looking. She's hungry and she's thirsty and she's tired, so tired. It's nearly too much. But she knows if she moves from this spot to get food or water or sleep she'll lose her place, and she'll have to start all over again. There's no food or water here, but she can at least get some rest.
Exhausted and frustrated, Homura transforms her soul gem back into its compact ring form and sits down. Leaning gently against a pod and feeling the swell of Stacy's breathing, she tries to get some sleep.
Homura can't make out the faces of anyone inside. Just a vague silhouette. She knows she's trying to do something nearly impossible. She could look through these pods her entire life and never find Madoka, but she still looks. She said it herself to the others, didn't she? Giving up is the same as dying. Homura judges from the particulars of these people's bodies, their wrists, their ankles. Their hair. She searches for a glimpse of pink in a sea of green and finds nothing; that's alright, she'll keep looking.
On and on her trek goes, up and down the spiralling walkways and stairs. Pausing at every single pod that holds a glimmer of hope, a human figure of a young girl. Illuminating the insides with the light of her soul gem, she can never get their faces to show. What she can see of their bodies usually shows something Madoka doesn't have. A faint scar, a distinct freckle or mole.
She's started from the bottom and is moving her way gradually up. It's easily been a day since she started looking. She's hungry and she's thirsty and she's tired, so tired. It's nearly too much. But she knows if she moves from this spot to get food or water or sleep she'll lose her place, and she'll have to start all over again. There's no food or water here, but she can at least get some rest.
Exhausted and frustrated, Homura transforms her soul gem back into its compact ring form and sits down. Leaning gently against a pod and feeling the swell of Stacy's breathing, she tries to get some sleep.