3.
Nagisa is six.
Her mother has thrown a smelly glass bottle into the garbage, scoffing at it like it has done her wrong, scoffing at her like she can do no right.
Like they are a mistake that needs an eraser.
She gets the highest grades she can and earns a head pat. But no hair ties. No pigtails.
She wants ice cream at the very least but none of her wishes seem to be granted.
The word strays at the edge of their mind, her very being.
Then it's gone and Nagisa is left thinking of the moon. The moon and its many craters, like their many failures.