There were three. The brother, the oldest. All cool water. Still on the surface, but running deep, and with a mind like a keen knife's edge. Myself, the youngest. Quiet, calm, and concerned, with a mind that wandered like an autumn leaf carried in the whispering breeze. And the sister in between. All fire and wind spirit and vibrance and color. Her mind was a blade still hot from the forge, and her tongue matched it.
All disparate, all different in nature, but tied with the love of words, of fantasy, of creation. Our lives would weave through struggle and success, one following the inverse of another. They were destined for success, with minds bent toward achievement. I for wandering and exploration, my mind bent toward the whispering breeze.