The Priestess approaches wearing the traditional garb of the spring worship. The khaki shorts and the pink tank top, her hands covered by the floral-print gloves. She stands over me in my charging station and speaks, “The House has a task for us.”
I kneel before her and utter, “If it pleases the House, Priestess.”
I follow the Priestess outside. “These shrubs need planting,” she says and hands me a spade.
The morning sun glints off the House’s windows. Joy wells inside of me. “Thank you, oh House, for your protection and for choosing me for such an important task.”