"Perfect unison of lines and colour

Like the grassy hills and the gentle stream found in our dreams

Like being under a clear sky where the sun shines softly through the trees

Each sound of upon the canvas like that the sweet bird's melody

Each moment not forgotten

After one stroke after another

The union of lines and colour

Coming together like a pleasant dream

But never as such because through each moment becomes a reality

To show what has not been seen or to show a memory

Of a time or place 

From what we know or from beyond this earthly space

Close or far to the unknown

Every stroke upon the void

By the perfect unison of lines and colour

Through the heart and soul of its creator

A dream no longer a dream

No longer a simple memory

By the union of the artist

The dream becomes a masterpiece"

The art of creation is one filled with many complex parts. Simple is the picture upon the canvas that is known as life. The image takes form and continues evolving and changing with each moment passing. Through the use of the pen or brush, life can be made. From a person, to the universe in its entirety, the power of words or image can be the difference between being and never existing. That is how it was before we existed. We were a dream, a thought within a mind with the intent to bring such thought into form. As the legends tell, the one that created the world in which we call home as well the life we are gifted was an artist. A master of her craft. In how she was able to do as she did is a mystery, but sometimes mysteries are a good thing. Although, things in our world are not always easy. Not all people or things are good and not all people and things are bad. However, things can change one way or another, like the stroke of the brush upon the canvas, it can change direction and the paint could change in color but layer by layer like all that we see is what makes life as it is. The simple complexities of flaw and perfection. However, this is not why we are here.

The story begins with two sisters named Katria and Alika, along with their brother who's name was lost through time for unknown reasons. However it brings to question if the name was truly forgotten or is it kept hidden so others would never know. Whichever it may be, does not take from the legend of the three siblings. The legend states that the siblings are a few of the first beings to live in our creator's grand painting. For reasons unknown, one day they were given a gift. A paintbrush made of a single bristle that was left upon the Grand Canvas. Instead of removing it from her painting, the divine artist gave it a new life within her creation. This bristle became the artifact known as the "Golden Brush". However, it looked like any ordinary brush except for the fact it had powers similar to the brush used to create everything we know. 

It could create and destroy, or do absolutely nothing at all. It can do or be whatever the beholder chooses it to be. And that is what created the dispute between the three siblings. The two younger sisters fought against their brother which created disarray in the universe; bringing forth everything we know as good and evil, sanity and madness, immortals and mortals. However, it showed that even though life is plentiful, it soon falls into eternal slumber. There, as we know, life and death which was unknown before the creation of the Golden Brush. After the end of the siblings quarrel, the brush disappeared, finding its way through existence and our reality. Drifting upon the paint strokes without a care, and with or without purpose. Within a amount of time which we do not know for sure how long, the way things were are no longer what they first have been. A paradise true by every meaning has changed into a different paradise where all things have meaning. Time now possessed form, age had value. Decisions possessed consequences that would lead to a butterfly effect of more decisions and consequences.

The past though is what makes the future so adventurous. Without the past; without the three siblings, this story would not begin. The winds of this tale brings us to a room belonging to a young woman. She lays in bed sleeping, dreaming as the night passes on. She dreams peacefully, to what she is dreaming only she can say but little does she know what is to come. When the sun shall rise and the day begins, so will her journey...