I is for Iama

Iama was the villain in one of my mother’s stories which she wrote and illustrated along with her partner, Morisot. She was the melancholy of a woman’s soul kept in shadow, compelled to trap a princess in the same shadow until the princess’s sister rescued both of them. When I first met Nathalie and Grace, Morisot’s daughters, I called myself Iama the Terrible. It was just a joke, one which Grace squeal and Nathalie roll her eyes. How long has it been since the three of us joked around? There’s been little to laugh at of late, not since Nat left. I’ve been working long hours, spending less time with Grace. It’s all right since Grace is spending more time at school, working herself. I used to worry about her wandering around with that bear of hers, making up stories about Iama the Terrible in her tower of gold. Anyone she touches will turn into gold, shining, immobile, and lifeless. I think Nathalie read that story to Grace once. It’s funny, because Iama is an anagram of my name, Maia. I’m not really terrible, or I try not to be. I’m just strict and becoming more strict in Wind Me Up, One More Time, the work in progress I appear in. No, I don’t give my workers a lot of time off. Far too little those workers would say. I don’t take time off either. I’m doing what I can to make this factory a success. I’m trying to create a stable future for it, myself, and Grace. Everything I do has a purpose. Maybe it’s been a long time since I smiled or laughed. I’m too busy to have fun. There’s no time to waste. Not if I want this factory to prosper. Besides the work distracts me from all the lonely moments when I remember that Nathalie is no longer here, that I’m not sure if she’s ever going to be here again. Work doesn’t banish those moments, but it helps me to ignore them. I don’t want to waste time feeling sorry for myself. Every moment I’ve got has to count.