I is for Iama

It’s strange. I used to joke about being Iama the Terrible, when I chased Grace around like a girl, cackling like a melodramatic villain. Nathalie would always clap her hands and tell me I had a gift for acting. I shouldn’t let it go to waste. 

Now, Nathalie is gone. I no longer think of myself as Iama. I’m just Maia now, constantly working, trying to support myself. Grace still thinks of me as Iama. I’m more Iama to her than I ever was when I used to pretend I was an evil sorcerer, luring my victims into a tower where I turned them all into statues. I’m not sure where ‘Wind Me Up, One More Time’ is going. It’s still a Work in Progress. I’m not sure what to make of Grace’s vision of me. This story is from her perspective. If it were telling this tale, it would be quite different. However, I no longer tell tales, not even snippets. Here is a little of Grace’s. 

There’s was a reason I thought of Maia as Iama the Terrible. I just didn’t dare to call her that to her face, not even in my thoughts. Very little of my Maia remained in the creature sitting in her chair, not smiling, not even enjoying her work. 

“What is it you want me to learn?” I asked. I used my most adult voice. It still came out squeaky.

“To act like a grown up,” she said. She fixed her pale hazel eyes upon me. Even they were turning into gold.