Some people joke about their weird friends being dropped on their heads as kids and others joke about themselves being dropped on their heads.

Nerida Aberdeen was neither, but the rumor still went around.

She was a rather cute little girl, for a ten year old, and she looked pretty normal, for all intents and purposes. She had pale skin with rosy cheeks, long golden blonde hair, and deep blue eyes. She liked wearing skirts and dresses, the color purple, reading books, telling stories, and anything else that had to do with art.

Nerida heard all the whispers that people would throw her way. She saw all the sympathetic looks most adults gave her parents. All the pitying looks toward herself. She knew what those looks meant. People were sorry that she saw things that 'weren't there'. She saw things that no one else could; things that 'didn't exist'.

They all told her that butterflies didn't talk to people. And the butterflies certainly didn't send images into your head of what they looked like when they were 'alive'.

Most people thought it was a mental disorder, but no amount of prescription drugs or therapy did anything to help, so her peers would spread rumors that she really was dropped on her head as an infant. In fact, when Nerida was younger, she thought it was all normal. She thought the little white butterflies that formed other people were normal.

She didn't know any better. It was natural. She was just herself. She was just trying to make friends. But the whispers continued- they got louder and louder.

"Don't play with her, she's weird."

"Look at her; she's just sitting there, talking to an empty space."

"I feel so sorry for her family; it must be so hard to watch her go through this."

"Hey, think if she sees one more fairy, they'll haul her off to the loony bin?"

"Yeah, I hear the freak show is missing a member."

"Hi, there!"

"I wonder what she thinks she'll be when she grows up."

"I said, 'Hi, there'!"

"Oh, I know! She'll be a princess!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, and what about her prince? Is he gonna be 'the handsomest of them all'?"

"Hah, no way. Her prince is a FROG!"

"HEY I AM TRYING TO SAY HERRO TO YOU AND THE REAST YOU COULD DO IS SAY HERRO BACK BECAUSE THAT THE PORITE THING TO DO WHEN SOMEONE GREET YOU!" A thick accent suddenly screeched.

Nerida fell off of her spot on the park bench, eyes wide and glasses teetering off her nose. She looked up in shock and awe to the person who dared say hello to the freaky girl who talks to air.

It was a boy; a rather pretty boy, too, like one that would come out of a fairy tale. He had distinctly Asian features, from his short, shaggy hair to his dark brown eyes. His hair was so black, it almost looked blue. He wore a pair of khaki shorts and a dark blue top with an orange star on the front and a pair of sneakers and he was smiling. He was smiling at her.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean scare you. I trying make sure you hear me." He offered his hand to her. "Need hand?" Shell-shocked, Nerida grabbed the offered appendage, and the surprisingly strong boy pulled her upright.

"I'm Isuzu Kurotaka! I am twelve. I moved from Japan. Not good with language yet, but will soon! You are Nerida. Sit in front of me. Like your drawings." Nerida glanced at the strange boy from beneath her long bangs.

"You… saw them?" She asked timidly, afraid he would just laugh and say he was lying like other kids before him. But she saw those butterflies again, and they danced around this strange boy, as if saying she could trust him. And the sincerity he held in his eyes was so real. He grinned wider.

"Oh, yes! You are quite…" He trailed off, looking off to the side a bit, a puzzled expression etching his features. Nerida tilted her head.

"Good?" She offered, full of hope. Isuzu pointed at her with an excited expression on his face.

"Yes! That is word! Learning to word is hard." He put his hands on his hips and nodded twice, humming in satisfaction. "Can I see more?" He asked shyly, rubbing the toe of his sneaker into the grass. Nerida grinned. She had never had a living friend before. She turned to her bag and grabbed her sketchbook, sitting back onto the bench. Isuzu sat next to her as she told him all about her drawings in the simplest words possible.

The strange glowing butterflies kept coming around to tell Nida their stories, so she had come up with a solution to remembering them all without being labeled clinically insane and chucked into the nearest asylum; she wrote and painted. The stories she heard from the butterflies being the muses for her novels and paintings, and Isuzu would often act as her male model when she needed to get a pose right.

She and Isuzu grew close, like a brother and sister. They were truly the closest of friends; coming up with nicknames for each other- Nida-rin or Sweetie and Suzu-rin, Suzy, or Boo, respectively-, sharing their closest secrets, and doing almost literally everything together. Many people thought they would become a couple until Suzu finally came out as pansexual, though having more of a preference toward men.

When Nerida confided in Isuzu about her powers, he confided in her about his orientation. Both were pleased to know that the other still cared and respected them.

Isuzu was there for Nida when her parents neglected her or tried to take her to more mental specialists, and Nida was there for Isuzu when his family harped on him for preferring men to women, and set him up on blind dates and marriage meetings. They were each other's solace, their comfort, their protection.

Isuzu and the butterflies were all Nida ever needed.

(((12 Years Later)))

"I don't know, Suzy," Twenty -two-year-old Nerida Aberdeen said to her best friend, twenty-four-year-old Isuzu Kurotaka. She sat on the tan sofa in front of the TV and glanced out the window, gazing at the bright orange and pink sunset. "Living people just don't do it for me. Regular people don't do it for me. You of all people know that." The boy on the floor rolled onto his stomach, shaking his black fringe from his dark eyes.

"Nida, sweetie," Suzu cooed, tugging at her long blonde ponytail. "You are a twenty-two-year-old virgin. You seriously need a man."

The pair had grown up together, tighter than the day they first met. With Suzu in medical school and Nida studying Fine Arts in college, they decided to break free from their childhood prisons and share a house together with Suzu's Medical Service Dog, a Shiba Inu named Momo, and Nida's one-eyed black cat, Sebastian. The top half of the house was where they lived, and the bottom half served as Nida's art studio.

But years of being subjected to tests and treatments for a mental disorder she never had had taken a toll on Nida.

The originally bright eyed and bushy tailed chatterbox had become a recluse, speaking no more than was necessary to no one but Suzu and the butterflies.

Nida sat up straight; a butterfly had come through the window and began to flutter around her person. She held out her index finger for it to land so she could hear it properly.

"Hello, my friend. What is it that you desire from me?" She whispered fondly to the glowing creature. Isuzu gazed at her from the corner of his eye, his body still and silent to allow Nida and the spirit to converse in peace. Nida's face melted into a look of pure sadness, but she smiled anyway.

"I understand. It was very nice to see you again. You must have come a long way to see me for this request. I admit, it will be difficult, but I will see what I can do." Silence ensued again, and the spirit lifted itself from her finger and circled her head once, thanking her, before it left. Nida sighed deeply.

"Was it him again?" Isuzu asked after a few moments of silence. Nida nodded.

"He came to me with a strange request; he wants me to paint a family portrait of him, his wife, and their son." Isuzu turned to face her with a deadpanned expression on his face.

"But… Hasn't this guy been dead for centuries?" Nida nodded, crossing her arms and cocking a brow.

"Yes, but he was rather insistent. He said he wants me to give it to his son." Isuzu sat up and whirled on her.

"No way! That's impossible! There is no way in hell that that kid is still alive! Nida, you don't have to do it!" Nida stood from her place on the sofa.

"Well, even if it is impossible, I am in the mood for some art. And who knows? It might become my muse. Plus I'm sure he would appreciate being able to come over and look at it for a while." With that, she walked down the stairs and into her studio. She peeked back out the door to Suzu.

"Doesn't your internship shift at the hospital start soon?" She drawled,

It was a rather large space. Plenty of room for Nida to organize all of her paints by type, canvases by size, sculptures from pottery, and complete from incomplete. At least, that's what three-quarters of the room was dedicated to. The other quarter had a small mattress for when Nida worked nonstop on a project; oftentimes, when she did that, she would forget to eat and sleep, so Ren put the mattress down there so she could catch up on sleep if she needed to. On one wall was a large bookshelf that Nida usually used for inspiration. Other times, it seemed appropriate for her to just take a break from all the art and just sit down to read a good book.

Flipping on the lights, she picked up a blank canvas and set it on the easel. She grabbed her pencils and set to work on sketching the outline for her newest project. Stroke by stroke, her cerulean gaze never left the canvas. Each swipe of her pencils formed the face of a handsome man, a lovely woman, and a young child. Nida's eyes narrowed in concentration, remembering the man's tragic story.

He was a fisherman who lived in a poor village on the coast of a country that was almost constantly at war with its neighbor. He was the only survivor of a terrible and bloody battle, escaping unscathed, save his left leg from the knee down. He was a war hero who was granted many, many riches upon his country's victory in the war; riches he refused in order to go back to his peaceful life of fishing and living with his wife and son. He didn't want riches. He didn't need them. He didn't even like the way the country was headed, what with all the reliance of income from war. He instead wished to focus on what he could. He had his family and he had his boat. That was all he needed.

His son was his most valued treasure, next to his wife. That little toddler seemed to know just the right thing to do, like he could choose the right fate at any given time. He was a good little boy, who wanted nothing more than to assist his amputee father, and the man knew his son was destined for great things; maybe he would even change the world! So he raised his son to be a good man; never take more than needed, always follow a moral code.

Two years later, another war came. And he had nothing to give to the cause.

This caused animosity amongst his fellow countrymen, who labeled him and his family expatriates. The small family was ostracized even in their own village. But the man did not care, for he had his wife and son. That was all that mattered to him, though his wife stressed over his aloofness to the entire situation.

In the midst of it all, his family sheltered an injured man, later revealing himself to being a spy for the enemy country after kidnapping the man's son in order to escape. Though no one but the man and his wife cared at all. The rest of the village looked on, not really caring that the son of an expatriate was going to be killed.

The man begged the spy to release his son, claiming that he faced an easier punishment if he gave up. The spy refused, replying that he was not an expatriate to his country and touched the man's son in the mouth lightly with his dagger.

The man used all his strength to stab the spy in the gut, saving his young son. Soldiers arrived, collecting the body and arresting the man; since he sheltered the spy, they needed to know that he was not working for the country against their empire.

He was tortured long and hard for days before it was decided he was innocent, but that was not the end of his suffering. The punishment for aiding a criminal was to be deployed to the front lines.

When the day came for him to head into war, he was so weak with pain and blood loss he could hardly walk. The fact that he only had one leg made his balance even worse, but that did not stop the soldiers from retaliating to his rudeness. He saw his wife and son watching with tears trailing down their faces. The rest of the village folk turned to him, scowls etching their faces as they demanded for the expatriate to leave.

The man's young son tried to make them stop yelling at him; his father had saved them, so why didn't they care? He was too young to understand at the time. The villagers began to yell at the boy, and the man shouted for them to stop.

"Don't lay a hand on my son or my family," He had growled harshly, turning to look at the sorry villagers.

"Listen up!" He called to them. "From now on, I will be going to war. What you are all so worked up over; have such a zeal for, is this war. But what kind of thing is war, exactly? Remember this well… Look! THIS RIGHT HERE, THIS IS WAR!" He tore off his clothes, the tattered cloth revealing something horrid.

Scars of epic proportions littered his body. Enormous, scars from battle. That was what war meant in his time. An eerie, uncomfortable silence fell over the crowd.

"This body that's so hard to look at and covered in scars is a product of war," He declared. "Now I ask everyone; what has war done for you? Is it because, thanks to this war, this country has flourished? Or that you've received money for everyday novelties? OPEN YOUR EYES! That money wasn't simply won over from a country we invaded! IT'S DECEPTION! In the shadows, how many thousands of people have been hurt or cried or even died?! What about your struggles now?! Your tools for work, along with your boats, have been taken. Your money, your food, everything is now the government's. DON'T YOU THINK IT STRANGE?! Is war… really such a great thing?" He trailed off, grasping the cloth above his severed leg.

"My body became like this because of the war. That's why I've kept my family away from the war. Being labeled an expatriate, or being beaten until I cough blood, I'VE SWORN THAT I WOULD RISK MY LIFE TO PROTECT MY FAMILY!" He was silent for a moment. Then he gestured to the villagers.

"What about you?" He asked them quietly. The villagers hung their heads in shame. The man gazed at them with sad eyes.

"I see." He whispered, disappointed. The soldiers who were escorting him broke out of their shock, and beat him as they tied him up, shouting obscenities at him. As he was led away, bound by ropes, he spoke to his beloved son one last time.

"Fight as a man to protect those precious to you," He told him. "I'm counting on you to look after your mother." He finished with a smile. With that, he was sent to the war where he died an unofficially honorable death.

Nida's hands stopped moving, and she stood, backing up to observe the sketch.

This was the family of that man; a man who Nida felt was one of her biggest heroes.

This was Badr of Parthevia.

Badr was actually the first spirit Nida remembered making contact with. He had been wandering around when he stopped to sit under a tree in the local park. Nida, then age 9, had been playing with her ball not too far away. When she lost her grip on the ball, it rolled over to Badr's feet. She stared at him for a while, and he stared back. Nida picked up her ball and plopped down next to the surprised spirit. She began to talk to him, asking who he was, where he was from, and why he was dressed like he was. She never mentioned his missing leg, no matter how much she wanted to ask. They were friends ever since.

"Little one, why do you not ask about my leg?" He had asked her one day while her parents were out. Nida was sitting at the living room table, coloring with her crayons. Nida had simply smiled.

"I don't wanna make you remember bad stuff, so when you wanna tell me, then I'll listen!"

A butterfly fluttered around the sketch. Nida smiled at it.

"Back so soon, Mr. Badr? I thought you would be longer. Hey, do you like it so far?" She asked, gesturing to the sketch. The butterfly- rather, the spirit of Badr, fluttered happily. Nida giggled, happy that he was so pleased.

"Okay, let me just finish the outline so I can start filling it in later," Nida said as she picked up a thin brush and multiple shades of gray and black paint. With each careful stroke the painting seemed to suddenly take shape. When she finished, Nida set down the brush and held out her hand so the spirit could rest its tired wings.

"You know, you would make a pretty nice wife." Badr's rich, baritone voice said to her. Nida giggled lightly.

"Certainly not for you; Miss Ezra would have my head, I believe." Badr let out a deep chuckle.

"Haha, not for me, little angel. For my son. The two of you would really make a nice pair. You both have much in common." Nida twitched. Now even the dead people were taking an interest in her non-existent love life.

"Speaking of which, are you ever going to tell me his name? It's going to be hard enough to find him without knowing where he is."

"You already know his name," Badr answered as he fluttered over to Nida's bookshelf. He landed on Nida's favorite book; A Thousand and One Nights, or as some would call it, Arabian Nights. Nida climbed over her mattress and pulled out the book.

"I remember reading this with Suzu when he was still learning how to speak and read in English…" Nida murmured to herself, a small grin gracing her lips. She hugged the book to her chest and lay down.

"You know which one is my favorite, Badr?" She asked the spirit as she yawned. "The Seven Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor." Badr's butterfly flickered in response as Nida fell asleep. He knew that she would enjoy the adventure awaiting her. More butterflies glided in, covering the sleeping girl in a warm glow as she slept on, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

((()))

It was cold; colder than it was when she went to bed last night. It almost felt like she was lying on ice under the winter moon.

'Is it really morning already? It's still so dark…'

She felt a poking sensation on her upper arm, so she swatted at whatever it was. The poking stopped, so she tried to go back to sleep. But the poking resumed shortly after, and she could faintly hear someone speaking. Huh? Who is that and why were they in her room? Was it Suzu? She opened her eyes to see… nothing. Nothing was there. She looked around and saw that she wasn't in her room; instead, she was surrounded by a vast ocean of desert sand and nothing else. She blinked, wondering how in the world she had gotten there.

A young boy with blue eyes and matching hair in a braid was sitting next to her. She stared for a minute.

"Good morning, Aladdin!" She smiled lightly.

"How did you know my name, Miss…?" He asked, trailing off because he didn't know her name. "

"I'm Nida… And I know it because…" Nida trailed off, wondering if she should tell him. Almost anyone else she told dubbed her as crazy and left her alone.

"Because?" He coaxed. Nida shifted, nervous. The butterflies were there again and, just like when she first met Suzu, they fluttered around the two, letting her know she could trust this small boy.

"The butterflies told me."

Author's Note; I know I shouldn't be writing another story, but the muse just came to me in my sleep one night and I woke up with the urge to write this.

Oddly enough, I wrote this while listening to a male cover of Timber, by Ke$ha, on a loop. I don't get it either, but it kinda suits Nida.

UPDATE: I fixed a few things; A little grammar and spelling issues here and there, plus the fact that Morgiana wasn't supposed to appear yet. Still not quite sure how what happened… And I had to change Ren to Isuzu, mainly because it was confusing me with the Ren family and my baby Ren… Yeah, it got a little weird when I started really plotting the future.

Heh… plotting…