Ishita had a habit of narrating her mistakes in a voice that was, by any outside measure, cruel. Missed a deadline? "You're so incompetent." Said something awkward at a party? "Everyone must think you're an idiot." She would never have spoken to a friend this way, yet she spoke to herself like this dozens of times a day, so automatically she barely noticed anymore.

It took a minor car accident — not serious, but jarring — to make her notice the pattern clearly. She'd misjudged a turn, dented her bumper, and immediately spiraled into a wave of self-directed fury that lasted the rest of the day, far outweighing the actual size of the mistake.