Biting her lip, Constance followed the Shaper Mother through it. The mother began to fuss with her wrap, unwinding it from around her shoulders and folding it. Constance fetched the onyx box for her skin and waited. Working as an assistant was a bizarre combination of responsibility for menial jobs and access to confidential information. “I only ask you to take care of work-related matters,” said the Shaper Mother. “Never anything to do with my private life. You don’t do my shopping, or deal with problems at my oneser.” Oops, she’d read her mind that time. She must be well rested. The mother allowed herself a tight smile. “Comparatively,” she said. Settled on her throne-chair, she indicated to Constance to approach. Their positions had an air of choreographed formality. Constance concentrated on emptying her mind, feeling it clear, the way furniture is lifted from a room. She had to be the gatekeeper of her thoughts.
