The clouds hung low on the outskirts of London, England. Their blue gray tendrils seemed to reach for the building, grasping at the chimneys. While it hadn't rained in a few days, a wet mist seemed to constantly hang low over the area. It collected in puddles of foul smelling water and the condensation on windows. When one would inhale, it would sink to the pit of their lungs in a humid haze, seemingly staying for all eternity. The sounds of the busy city mixed with the slight buzz of the permanent anti-aircraft blimps made for a dull background noise.

Without nylons, the thick green wool of a skirt scratched skin as a girl swung her legs back and forth. Her shoes barely touched the ground. A white shirt and skirt bunched awkwardly around her waist, a size too big to fit properly. As a gust of wind blew outside the building, the girl pulled a navy overcoat tighter around herself. The wind always had a way of slipping in through the cracks. Slowly, she brought her hand to the fully buttoned collar of her shirt, and ran her under it, pulling the stiff cotton away from her skin. Eyes darting around the room, her hand found its way back to being wrapped around her waist.

The room itself was not very interesting, though only a year old at best. The walls, which were made of dark wood, stood bleak. Being lit only by the gray light from the windows left the room feeling washed out. Refugee centers were never inviting. The only thing in it were three rows of chairs, and the inhabitants of them. There were a few other children sitting in the room as well. 

Two scruffy looking girls were holding hands and whispering into each other's ears. They had unkempt hair that could have been a bright blonde, but was now streaked with dirt. They both had large blue eyes that held far off looks. One brunette boy was crying into his knees, and next to him an older looking girl was rubbing his shoulder. With the same dark hair and eyes, one could only assume they were family.

A few chairs down from the girl, a skinny boy with brown hair looked up. Instantly making eye contact, the girl turned away quickly while the boy's gaze lingered just a second longer. After sitting in silence, both children were grateful for the lady that came out of the office "Margaret Fichter and Abraham Portman." Her voice was tired

The brown haired boy and the girl stood and walked towards the woman. She wore aggressive red lipstick. The woman pulled on the boy's, Abraham's, collar, and straightened the ribbon holding the girl's, Margaret's, terracotta hair back. She looked at the pair with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, and opened the door.

A different woman sat in the room the children walked into. Her short frame was swamped in a long black gown, layered with skirts and puffed sleeves. Under a gauze veil, eye's that looked decades older than the young face they accompanied were surrounded by circular framed glasses. Gloved hands folded on her lap, she emanated formality. Her gaze found the girl's.

"Miss Fichter, I presume?" she said, English accent profound

"Yes Ms...?" Margaret replied in a heavy Austrian accent. She winced at the way the harsh syllables sounded.

"Miss Peregrine." she said, and then turned to the other boy "Mr. Portman?"

"Yes." Said the boy in a thick polish accent. He kept his gaze down. The woman held out her hand, and they each took a turn shaking it. The sound of a clearing throat made all three heads turn to the pudgy man behind the desk. Margaret didn't know his name, only that he was a placement worker.

"Ah, Mr. Adley." said Miss. Peregrine, turning back "These are the two children I presume?"

"You would be right, Miss. Now about the paperwork..." Their conversation fell onto deaf ears as Margret's eyes found the clock hanging on the wall. As she stood, Margaret failed to notice Abraham swaying slightly next to her until his knuckles lightly brushed against hers. Her breath sucked in as she whipped her hand back. She held her hand defensively against herself as her eyes found the boy's. 

"Are you alright?" He asked, clear concern in his voice. Abraham turned to face her.

"Y-yes" she said, a slight shake to her voice. Abraham took notice of a certain rasp to her voice, like it hadn't been used in some while. Margaret's eyes turned downwards again as a breath left her parted lips. While they weren't thin, they were chapped, devoid of most color. Through them, he could just make out a small gap between her front two teeth.

By then, Miss. Peregrine and Mr. Adley had stopped talking, and we're watching the pair silently. Mr. Adley seemed to brush it off fairly quickly, while Miss. Peregrine studied Margaret and Abraham for just a second longer. But then she too, looked away.

"Children" said Mr. Adley, pulling out papers and handing them to Miss Peregrine, "Say your goodbyes to the ol' house. You two are goin' to be staying with Miss Peregrine on a small island off the coast of Wales.

Abraham opened his mouth like he was going to object, but thought better of it. Margaret just stayed silent. She wanted to object, but knew it would be no good. While the refuge camp wasn't nice, it was safe; it was still her first sanctuary. Because of this, she was hesitant to leave. It didn't matter what she wanted though, she had no say in the matter of her placement. So, she and Abraham had no choice but to follow Miss Peregrine out of the office.