I was a mortal, flawed and lost. I am now something else.
My parents would call me a Djinn and would invoke God, lest we bring the evil eye.
Here, we are sometimes called Spirits, sometimes called demons.
We are not.
Fatima was the beacon of hope, the one our parents were proud of for being responsible, sensible and strong, while still maintaining family tradition, such as our faith.
Maryam was the wild spirit of invention, creativity and imagination, the one our parents feared at first, but encouraged, knowing that in this adopted country of theirs, she would have a good life. What parents would deny their children such a thing?
I was but a passive observer, one that let people make choices for me. Choices I regretted too late.
I'm trying to make it up to you, my sisters. I will tell your stories as I see them in this Fade, and God willing, maybe then you will be forgiven. For it is certain the shaytan already has its claws on me and no prayer will redeem my soul in the eyes of the Allmighty.
We are three. We were brought. We died.
As my sisters would say: Fuck Andraste.
