The cat meowed.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then a third time.

  Before Flynn understood what was happening, the furry feline was talking in a sequence of purrs and growls.

  Everyone’s eyes were glued to Dora, their faces serious. No one moved or said anything.

  After about thirty seconds of uninterrupted meowing, Flynn raised his hand.

  Dora paused mid-purr, and Elli looked at him with furrowed brows.

  “I’m sorry,” Flynn began, lowering his hand, “but does anyone here actually understand what the cat is saying?”

  A murmur of outrage filled the room as patients started huffing and puffing, growling and hissing.

  The therapist smiled patiently.

  “I know that all of this is new to you, Flynn,” she said calmly, “but everyone here gets the same amount of time to talk about their feelings, should they so wish.”

  Her voice was firm but not angry.

  “Even if no one can understand them?”

  The corners of Elli’s mouth twitched ever so slightly.

  “Even if that were the case, yes.”

  Flynn narrowed his eyes.

  “So you can understand her?”

  “Stop it,” Oscar muttered next to him, “you are embarrassing me.”

  His pleading amber eyes bore down on Flynn. In fact, everyone was staring at Flynn like he’d just spoiled a surprise birthday party.

  He sighed and crossed his arms. “Fine. Sorry.”

  Elli nodded appreciatively and gestured for Dora to continue. The cat glared at Flynn for a moment longer, then continued her monologue.

  They were sitting in a large circle, their butts, bellies, and tails sprawled across posh purple pillows. The scent of lavender hung in the air, and golden rays of sunlight bathed the majestic room in warm colors. Flynn was sitting next to Oscar, a little removed to indicate he wasn’t one of the patients, his hands coiled around his knees to ease the biting pain in his back.

  Chairs would do just fine, he thought to himself, drowning out Dora’s meowing by grinding his jaw.

  The therapy group consisted of seven people, plus Flynn.

  Across from them sat the Werehuman Dora, endlessly purring about her feelings. Next to her lay a griffin about half the size of Oscar, with shaggy brown feathers and a slight tilt to his posture. His name was Apollo — they’d briefly met him on the day of their arrival, much to Oscar’s dismay. When they’d entered the therapy room, the griffin had gazed at them with one of his goofy eyes, viciously clicking his pointy yellow beak.

  The other group members were new faces. There was a mermaid with scaly legs, a centaur with the torso of a horse and the rear end of a human, a manticore, a cyclops with glasses, and a jar of ash that claimed to be a phoenix.

  If Flynn hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought they entered the circus and not a medical institution.

  The other group members already knew each other from many prior sessions, with Oscar being the new guy. Apparently, a spot had opened up rather recently — Flynn didn’t dare to ask why.

  A punctuated meow interrupted his train of thought.

  The manticore gasped, the lion part of their personality apparently allowing them to understand what the cat was saying.

  There was a moment of contemplative silence before Elli gently folded her hands.

  “Thank you for sharing, Dora.”

  “Thank you for sharing,” the group droned out as one.

  The cat purred and clawed the pillow covers with relish.

  “Being ashamed of who or what we are is the root cause of most psychological conditions,” Elli explained, as if anything Dora said made any sense. “The feeling of not meeting expectations, whether they are our own or those of others, is a constant source of unease. It’s like an emotional wound — and wounds need to be treated.”

  There was a murmur of agreement, and those with heads shook them.

  Next, it was the griffin’s turn.

  “Apollo?” Elli asked with a soft smile on her lips. “Is there anything you'd like to share with us today?”

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  The griffin clicked his beak and narrowed his eyes. For a moment, he looked like a true predator. But then his head leaned to the side, and the large bird had to flap awkwardly to keep his balance.

  “You don't have to if you don't want to,” Elli prompted gently.

  “No, thanks,” a voice deeper than Oscar's replied, heavy with the weight of a rough life and the uncontrolled access to strong drinks.

  Flynn concluded that mythical creatures tended to have rather unique voices — for better or worse.

  Elli nodded and turned her gaze to the mermaid. The woman was keeping perfect posture on her soft pillow, and her long pink hair ran down her features like a waterfall. A linen shirt with shells as pattern covered her human torso, while pretty scales ran down the rest of her body all the way to her toes. She wore a mask of youthful cheerfulness, a smile glued to her face at all times.

  “Patricia?”

  The mermaid's eyes lit up, and she wiggled her scaly blue legs.

  “Yes, please!” she exclaimed, twirling her hair like a fiddle.

  Today’s topic was expectations and goals related to therapy. Apart from Dora, who could've talked about anything for all Flynn knew, only the glass of ash had shared its thoughts and feelings. To no one's surprise, the phoenix called Ferdinand was hoping to tackle his resurrection dysfunction by getting his fear of failure under control. He elaborated at length about how he would soar through the sky as a comet of red and yellow, and everyone listened politely, even Flynn. Apparently, this wasn't the first time Ferdinand had burned up and was confined to his ashen form, only this time, it didn't seem to fix itself.

  Patricia's high-pitched voice pulled Flynn back into the present.

  “I know I will never be like other mermaids,” the mermaid began, gesturing at her shimmering limbs, “but I want to reach a point where I'm confident enough to look them in the eyes whenever I return home.”

  The cyclops bobbed his head, almost violently — it appeared to be a sign of agreement.

  “When I was younger,” Patricia continued, “I often tried to cover up the fact that I was different. I would hide my legs by any means necessary, and only swim through the streets when no one could see me. I did so of my own choosing, but I know my parents appreciated it. Appearances were always important to them, so we tried to be that perfectly normal mer-family they always dreamed of.”

  She sighed, and the joyful mask cracked.

  “Of course, we were anything but normal. But that doesn't mean we can't be perfect.”

  The other group members sighed in awe, and a few of them started clapping. Oscar flapped his wings in an attempt to blend in.

  “Hearing you say that shows how far you've already come, my dear,” Elli acknowledged and inclined her head.

  A coy smile tugged at Patricia's lips, and she started fidgeting with a strand of pink hair.

  “Thank you. I am trying to stay positive about the whole thing. Sometimes I think if I keep telling myself it's going to be fine, I will actually believe it. And then, I will make it happen.”

  “It’s a process,” the therapist agreed. “And you are wise to take one step at a time. Telling yourself it's going to be fine can be a good start, but not at the expense of ignoring your true feelings. If you feel sad or hopeless at times, that's okay. We need to accept those feelings and properly feel them. Only then can we accept who we are, and only then can we move on to a better state of mind. But even if we manage to do that, there will always be moments when you feel down — learning to deal with your anxiety does not mean you won't have those feelings anymore, or that you can ignore them, but that you can allow them a healthy amount of space in a controlled manner.”

  Elli’s words hung in the air for a long, thoughtful moment.

  “I will do my best to keep that in mind,” the mermaid finally said with a melancholic voice, and her big yellow eyes blinked away a lone tear.

  The smile was back, but it carried a hint of sadness.

  Elli's expression was warm and comforting as she watched Patricia.

  “Once you truly accept who you are, I'm sure your parents will, too. And if not, we'll have Bjorn talk some sense into them.”

  She winked and nodded in the direction of the cyclops. Bjorn grunted in acknowledgement, muscles flexing under his pale skin.

  The group chuckled, if only for a moment.

  “Thank you for sharing, Patricia.”

  “Thank you for sharing,” the group recited.

  “Maybe,” Elli continued, and her blue eyes turned to Oscar, “we should give our new group member a chance to talk.”

  Flynn didn’t even have to look at the dragon to know what shade of crimson his neck scales had taken on. He could hear the reptile’s labored wheezing, feel the panic in his twitchy wing muscles.

  “M—me?” the dragon stammered.

  All eyes were on Oscar now, a glowing beacon of scarlet nervousness.

  “It’s optional, of course,” Elli said encouragingly. “Would you like to share your goals for this therapy program with us?”

  “N—no?” Oscar managed to say, his breathing unsteady.

  The therapist pursed her lips.

  “If that is your wish—”

  “Yes!” the dragon snapped.

  The awkward silence that followed was only interrupted by Apollo’s clicking beak. The other group members didn’t know whether staring at Oscar was an appropriate reaction, so they just looked at the floor or the ceiling. Flynn could feel the dragon tremble under his palm when he gently rested his hand on Oscar’s curled-up tail.

  After a moment that seemed to last forever, Elli’s soothing voice broke the spell.

  “That’s totally okay, of course. We have many new patients who choose to just listen in at first.”

  She gave Oscar a caring smile, her bright blue eyes soft and warm.

  The dragon breathed a sigh of relief that sent shivers through his entire body.

  It took a long while for the other group members to share their thoughts and feelings.

  Apart from Oscar and Apollo, everyone else was happy to talk about what was on their mind. As it turned out, the cyclops, Bjorn, was not one for words, so he mostly poured his emotions into grunts of varying pitch. The horse-faced centaur, on the other hand, turned out to be quite eloquent, and even the slight lisp caused by his horse teeth couldn’t diminish his charisma. The manticore was surprisingly shy, but displayed an impressive level of personal introspection.

  When all was said and done, and everyone except Oscar seemed relieved after unloading some of their burdens, Elli closed the session with a quick breathing exercise.

  The cyclops got up first and picked up the jar of ash that was Ferdinand. They were already on their way out when Elli’s calm voice floated through the room.

  “For next time, I'd like all of you to think about how you've dealt with problems or stressful situations in the past. Reflect on what methods you employed, and where they failed you. As always, no one is obligated to share, but it would be great if everyone could bring a memory we can discuss.”

  The dispersing group murmured obediently.

  “Well, at least it shouldn’t take you long to come up with a stressful situation you mishandled,” Flynn quipped.

  The dragon puffed an embarrassingly small wisp of smoke and gurgled like a broken faucet.