Y'know, this could be fuel for deliciously angsty fanfiction. A therian who took a bad deal because it was the best on offer, because surely anything at all would be better than the vessel of flesh they embodied at the time. Their only solace, through the agonies of their bones bending and cracking into shapes not their own, is that their species dysphoria could have been so, so much worse. And, as they peer into their oleaginous mirror, the one who looks back isn't them. But they're used to that. They've never known any different.