The next day, I sat on the beige couch facing the woman who had been on the screen of my tablet for the last two months. Her office smelled faintly of lavender, and a white sound machine played in a corner. It was awkward. For some reason, being face to face with her in the same room made it hard to articulate what I needed to say.
“Min, just relax and tell me what brought you here,” said Dr. Peterson.
“I had the same dream again. The tent with Matty, our first night together, then the Crown Prince’s Beast barges in. But this time I didn’t wake up. He killed Matty and finished what he started at the palace,” I said like I was reading a report instead of confiding in my therapist.
“I see. It seems the stress of you potentially becoming Luna is exacerbating the nightmares.” Dr. Peterson
