Tea

A Puella Magi Madoka Magica Fanfiction

by Tomoyo-chan

Disclaimer: I do not own, not even a little.

There was something sweet about tea. Not the sugar, though that was there too. Something about drinking it that made everything better. A cup of her favorite blend was all it took to calm down from a hard day at school, from too many nights hunting witches. Sometimes, for the especially traumatized victims of witches, she would take them to a nearby tea shop and buy them a cup. Mami wasn't quite sure it worked for them as it worked for her, but they would stop crying at least, and be well enough to get home. Tea was her own personal music, her drug of choice.

It wasn't working as well as she would have liked today. She placed her cup in its saucer, gazing out the window at the setting sun. Today, two more girls had been introduced to Kyubey. Neither were magical girls - yet - but they had run into a witch. Today, the new girl - Homura? - had attacked them. Today, she had made a threat. Today, was the day her family had been in an accident. Today, she would have been eighteen.

Unconsciously, her hand slipped to her side. She no longer felt pain the way she had before, but the phantom feeling remained. The feeling of half a car crushing her insides, of lengths of metal piercing through her. Her brother would have been thirteen now. She wondered if they would have still gotten along. Being thirteen was such a hard time. She knew; she was eternally thirteen now.

Maybe, she flicked the handle of her teacup so it spun a little, tea sloshing inside, maybe she should invite the girls over for tea again. Though younger - far younger really - than her, they were good fun to be around, and had looked with wide-eyed innocence at her magical girl form. She needed the reminder that being a magical girl was exciting, special, instead of just a burden, a job she did to stay alive and make sure no one else died if she could help it. Madoka was so sweet, like honeyed Peach tea, and Sayaka was a bold Darjeeling. She supposed that made her an English Breakfast tea, bold and sensible and maybe a little boring.

She gave a little smile down at her cup. It was a little silly to think of people like teas. Maybe she still was a child after all, however old she felt drank the last sip of her tea, dregs and all. The empty saucer clinked in the silence of her room.