Your name is Anon. You're browsing psychologytoday.com to look into bug and spider phobias. You're reading through the sparsely-detailed articles when suddenly an advert catches your eye.
New ground-breaking exposure therapy treatment guaranteed to cure arachnophobias, enotomophobias, &c.
Intrigued, you click the ad and drops you off at that therapist's splash page. The therapist looks like she'd be kind and capable, and not half-bad looking either. Her clinic's even in your own city. What're the odds of that? But no, you shake the thought out of your head. You're looking for a cure. Now, what about her credentials?
You see she graduated from a school with a good psychology program; that's a good sign. The list of acronyms you don't know and list of papers with titles just slightly beyond your understanding further assure you that this could be the real deal.
You read through the basics of what her "new ground-breaking exposure therapy entails" and the gist seems fairly standard - you'd gradually expose yourself more and more to the thing you're fearful of until eventually you no longer have that fear. No, there has to be more to this, you think. After a few minutes of browsing her clinic's website. You gather up the nerve to call the office and make an appointment.
You arrive at the clinic two weeks later. After filling the paperwork, the receptionist tells you to go on in to the therapist's office. You see the therapist but then you look off to your right. Your pulse quickens and you feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. There, seated far off to your right is a placid creature eyeing you with curiosity. An arachne, to be exact. Its face looks like a beautiful woman's face but the eyes are the black, unearthly orbs of an arachne. It wears a white coat and is attempting to smile at you.
"Anon, is it?" the spider monster girl asks in a light, echoey voice. "Come on in and take a seat, honey." She motions towards a chair across from her.