Therese has a way of getting into your head. You don't know if it's because so long ago that she gave birth to you, or she's just that good at what she does; she swaddles you in your own defenses before brutally breaking them down to find your soft spot, your truth, before getting to the bottom of it.

She's your mother. She's supposed to be able to do that, you know.

She looks upon you as she inspects her dancers getting ready for the first set of the night, a soft smile gracing her features, before she beckons you to the back of the club, where her office resides.

When she shuts the door behind you, she doesn't hesitate to brush any unruly strands of hair out of your eyes. It's a habit on her part, because she just wants her baby to look perfect.

"You haven't been sleeping, dear," she comments quietly, her voice spreading all over you like warm water to a basin, "What's the matter? Is everything all right, sweetheart? You can tell me." She pauses, before nodding to her desk. "I have something to show you. Stay for a moment."