Margaret cried until she had no more tears left. She screamed in anguish until she was sure her throat was raw. She had fallen off the bench long ago, her skirt damp and slightly brown from the ground water. Her face was drying, slightly sticky from the salt. Her head began to ache as she sat, resting her forehead on the cool bench, heaving breaths slowly calming.

One could only stay out for so long on a Cairnholm night before they felt the chill in their bones. It wasn't long before Margaret was too uncomfortable to stay, so she gathered her damp coat off the grass and snuck back in the house. The old house seemed to creek at every step she took, trying to remember what room held the stairs. If her crying hasn't disturbed someone, this certainly would.

Creeping along the halls, she finally found the stairs and began the painful process of sneaking up. The old wood was not forgiving under the weight of a person, groaning and cracking under each foot fall. The final task for the night was remembering which room was her's. She stopped three doors down from the stairs. Margaret couldn't quite be sure if this was her room, but it was her best bet. Slowly opening the door, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding at seeing Claire in bed, ringlets softly moving where her back mouth was snoring.

Walking in and shutting the door, Margaret turned and almost fell face first on the floor. Catching herself in an odd stumble, she looked at the ground to see what she could have possibly tripped over. In the middle of the floor, poor placement, Margaret thought, was a misshapen bundle.

Lifting it up the bundle in her hands, Margaret brought it to her desk before she opened it. Inside was a green sundress-that is what everything was held in-, a pressed blouse, two pairs of woolen socks, multiple pairs of undergarments, and a nightgown. Unfolding the nightgown, Margaret found a toothbrush and toothpaste inside. She smiled at the kindness of Miss Peregrine, who no doubt had gathered some things she might have needed. Taking the nightgown and two toiletries with her, Margaret went to the bathroom down the hall and closed the door.

Flipping on the light, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face was a bright red, eyes puffy from her tears. Margaret's terracotta hair had long since abandoned its braids, and now stuck out in odd angles. She let out a small laugh. In a twisted way, it was funny how she looked.

Margaret knew she needed a bath to wash the city and sea off of, but thought better of it due to the time. Instead, she splashed water onto her face until the dried tears had been washed off, and the redness dulled. She sipped handfuls of the cool liquid, slightly relieving the throbbing in her head. Taking her hair out of the remaining braids, Margaret ran her fingers through, taming it slightly. She brushed her teeth, thankful yet again for the items, the minty flavor leaving her feeling somewhat refreshed. Margaret changed into the nightgown, leaving the top three buttons undone, she hated tight things around her neck. Looking at the pile of clothes on the floor, she noted she must ask someone how to do laundry around here.

Back in her room, she put her dirty clothes at the base of her bed, and pulled back the quilt. The bed squeaked slightly as she got in. Margaret rolled onto her side, back towards the wall, and squished the pillow so it folded in half. Watching the girl across from her rest, Margaret finally let the exhaustion settle over her. She let it touch her limbs and as they began to calm. She let it reach her eyes as they slowly closed. She let grasp her mind as it all faded to black.

A girl is strapped to a medical table. What is left of her muscles flex has she tries to get free of the restraints. Tears are fresh in her wide eyes as she watches in fear from the table. There are four men around her, emotionless white eyes watch her every move. One man sticks a needle into the crook of her elbow. She hardly feels it anymore, it's just an IV. Another starts drawing a liquid into a syringe. It's dark in color, with flecks of lights floating in it. The girl sees this and begins to plead as they stick wires to her head.

"Please, please, no." Her voice breaks with desperation as they get closer "Please no, NO!" No one stops as more devices are strapped to her body. She begins to struggle more, shaking her legs as they closer. The man with the syringe holds her foot still in a tight grasp as he injects it into the sole of her foot. She screams, eyes closing at the pain. Her toes curl, hands closing into fists around nothing. She writhes on the table, her cries doing nothing to stop the men from continuing on.

Margaret woke in a cold sweat, and with fingers prodding the hair around the back of her head. She shuddered, and the girl behind her let out a small gasp. Whipping around, Margaret scurried so her back was against the wall. She faced Claire.

"What were you doing?" She asked. While she tried to make her voice sound harsh, it couldn't cover the shake in it.

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked, backing up. "I was just trying to see if you had a back-mouth like me. I've never met someone who has a back mouth and I wondered if you were scared to show it because I was at first and it turns out that you have one so please don't be scared. I'm sorry...I didn't mean to be rude. I'm sorry." Her eyes brimming with tears, her pleading becoming more and more frantic.

Margaret's demeanor softened at the bubbling girl. She leaned forward and put her hands on Claire's shoulders. Margaret looked into her eyes and spoke calmly

"No need to fret, little one. I do, but you cannot tell anyone. It is very important that you don't tell anyone. Can you do that for me, little one?"

"Yes" it came out as a croak as she wiped her face "Not even Miss Peregrine?"

"Not even Miss Peregrine."

"Okay, I'll try." A pang of sympathy struck Margaret, and she wiped the rest of the tears from the small girl's face.

"Thank you, little one." sniffing, Claire smiled at Margaret before leaving the room.

Margaret released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Shifting to the edge of her bed, she put her face in her hands and groaned. Running her fingers along her neck, they stopped above the nape. Sure enough, Margaret could feel the edges of a mouth. Shaking out her hair, Margaret stood, and turned to the wardrobe.

It was a gray dress she chose to wear. Given to her by a woman at the refugee camp, it was a few sizes too large, and hung off her like a sheet. Putting on shoes, she grabbed her comb and toothbrush, and walked to the hall.

The bathroom door was different from the other doors. Instead of being a rich brown, it was made of a light wood. It was coated in a white paint, slightly peeling in some places. Margaret continued to study the door as she waited. If she turned her head to the right, the one chip in the corner looked like a crescent moon.

"What was last night about?" It was Enoch. He had walked up behind Margaret.

"It was nothing." she said, still examining the door.

"It was something," he replied. Enoch mocked her accent as he spoke, pronouncing the was like vas and the something like somesing. She didn't like that.

After she didn't respond, he continued "So what's your peculiarity?"

"None of your concern." 

"Enoch." said the voice of Horace with an exasperated tone behind the bathroom door"You can't just ask someone about their peculiarity." 

"Piss off." he barked

There was an awkward moment of silence, then Enoch banged on the door and yelled "Horace, hurry up."

"You can't rush perfection." came the muffled voice of the well dressed boy in the bathroom.

"Screw it." Enoch said, before leaving, clearly annoyed at Horace

A few minutes later, he walked out in a neatly tailored suit. His hair was styled back, and his shoes freshly shined. Smiling at her as he passed, Horace walked to the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

Margaret hurried into the room, closing and shutting the door. Taking the comb, she brushed through her hair, careful to avoid the new back mouth. In order to ensure it wasn't seen, she tied her hair back at the nape of her neck, letting it in a simple braid. After making sure there was no sleep in her eyes, or the corners of her mouth, she opened the door, and walked towards the stairs.

On her way down, she spotted one of the many windows, only to see that sun shone through the clouds. It made her smile slightly. Hearing the voices of many of the other children, Margaret worried she was late. While she was never explicitly told there was a time she was expected to be awake, she still hurried down the stairs and over to the dining room. When she got to the table, was glad to see a few empty seats. Spread out across the table were muffins, a plate of eggs, and a bowl of fruit. Grabbing a muffin, she took a plate, and sat. She noticed that there was no meat or butter on the table.

"If you're wondering where the meat and butter are, we have to ration them." Looking up Margaret saw Emma moving to sit next to her. Nodding her head in understanding, Margaret went back to looking at the table.

"So, how did you sleep?" Emma asked, pouring herself a cup of tea "want a cuppa?"

"Ahh...good, I guess, and no thank you." Taking a sip of tea, Emma watched as Margaret picked away at her muffin. Not wanting to fall into silence, Margaret settled on "How was your evening?"

"It was nice." she said, putting some eggs on her plate. Again the conversation fell into quiet.

"So..." she questioned after a minute "How long have you known Abraham?"

"Only the morning before you." I said, sipping at my drink

"Oh" she said, dejected. Margaret saw her gaze at him longingly from across the table. He was laughing at something Hugh had said. Margaret could swear Emma's eyes grew softer when looking at him

"Good morning Miss Fitcher." Miss Peregrine said from across the table

"Good morning Miss." The woman smiled at the girl

"Do you have everything you need?" She asked "The post needs to be run into town and it would be a good time to get anything else you would want."

"She might want a few jumpers and some Wellingtons." Emma interjected then turned to Margaret "It gets pretty cold here and the bog swallows your foot whole without a good boot."

"If it's not trouble." Margaret said quietly

"Of course it isn't ." Miss Peregrine responded, sounding more motherly than ever "I will have Emma take you into town today."

"Thank you, Miss."

Later that day, Margaret and Emma were walking through the fields and into the town, her pocket heavy with the coins Miss Peregrine had given her. While she had originally refused the money, The Bird had insisted that it was her duty to make sure her wards were well taken care of.

Emma hummed quietly while they walked, skipping ever so slightly.

"So" she asked "what do you like to do?"

"Hmm?"

"Like, what do you like to do for fun?" The question took Margaret aback, as simple as it was. She realized she hadn't had fun in quite a while.

"Well.." she started, trying to think "when I had my radio, I loved to listen to music."

"What did you listen to?"

"Anything that was on, but my favorite was the symphony. I liked the violin." Emma saw how Margaret visibly relaxed as she spoke. The tension in her shoulders dissipated, and her eyes brightened. She wanted to see that more.

"What else do you like?"

"I do not know." Margaret laughed, a smile to her voice "I like to read when I can. Oh, and sewing can be fun..."

"You like to sew?" It came out as a laugh "Why?"

"I do not know." Margaret responded "I like to make things."

"Well, at least The Bird can make you do all the mending now."

"Oh hush" Margaret smiled "Well what do you like to do then?"

"I like to take pictures." she said, twirling around to face Margaret. "It's rather fun to pose everyone and dress them all up." She was now walking backwards "I love to swim around the cliffs when it gets warm, and help Fee tend the gardens."

"Fee?"

"Oh that's Fiona."

Suddenly, Emma's blonde head disappeared from in front of Margaret. The girl let out a squawk as she fell back. Margaret stood in place, frozen to the ground as Emma looked up at her. Her shoulders started to shake, and Margaret thought she might start crying, but instead burst out in laughter. Emma leaned forward in her giggles, holding her stomach as she went. Soon, Margaret was laughing too. It wasn't as high pitched as Emma's, but more alto. It came from her core, and could only be described as warming. Holding her hand out to the girl on the ground, Emma took Margaret help getting up.

"What a bloody idiot I am." she said, dusting off her skirt. Turning to face forwards, she spoke "Shall we?"

The walk to town was much shorter with Emma, Margaret realized. It only felt like minutes before she saw the tops of the buildings over the hills. Pointing her in the direction of the village store, Emma went to the post office, promising to return in a few minutes. Entering the store, Margaret saw a plethora of items from clothes, to food, to fishing equipment. Walking over to the clothes section, she instantly saw things she liked. She ran her fingers along a thick woolen sweater, before putting it in her arms. She did this with multiple pieces until she was satisfied. Finally, after grabbing a few toiletries and Welliongtons, she went to the desk. Ringing up the total was far less than she thought, not evening using half of the money given to her. Last minute, she grabbed a pair of sandals. While not very practical for the weather now, she thought they would be nice in the summer. Walking out of the store, she met with Emma, and they began their trek back to the house.

After stepping through the woods, Margaret found herself surprised to find a small stage set up in the yard. Chairs littered the lawn in front of it, and what seemed to be everyone in the house stood by it, waiting for the pair to return.

"What is this?" Margaret asked, partly to herself and partly to Emma

"It's a little we like to do for new wards" she smiled "Put your stuff upstairs and hurry back."

She did just that, returning to the yard to find a seat open for her in the front row. Taking it, a hush fell over the crowd as Millard went on stage. It was an odd sight, seeing a striped suit and hat floating around the stage.

"Welcome all ladies and gents to a wondrous show that will leave you questioning all you know." Millard projected his voice like a radio host, annunciating every word." Prepare your eyes to watch the world's strongest siblings, the boy who can raise the dead, the girl who can talk to plants, and much more. Be prepared to see" he stopped for dramatic a pause "Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children."

Everyone erupted into roaring applause as Millard went to the side, and came back with a large leather glove.

"Are first act," A cry was heard from above. Margaret looked up to see a Peregrine falcon swooping down. It did a few loops in the air before landing on the outstretched glove "Miss Peregrine herself."

Horace rolled out a large changing screen as she flew around more, doing dives over the crowd that left them cheering. Soon, she flew behind the large whilte cloth, and Miss Peregrine's head was seen emerging. She took the cloth, bowed, and walked off stage to the children cheering.

Margaret watched as Victor lifted Bronwyn, who lifted up Claire, who caught ball after ball in her back mouth.

She smiled through the beautiful demonstration of Enoch making a clay army of homunculi, and having them march up and down the stage. Some even went into the crowd untying shoes and stuffing grass into socks.

Soon, a rope was tied around Olive's foot, and she floated up to the towers of the house. She pretended to walk along the ridge of the roof, and did flips around the spires.

Next, Fiona grew a large flowering bush, blooming bright even in the spring cold. Hugh then sent his bees to buzz around it flying in and out of the flowers, before returning to his mouth.

Emma brought out a table of matches, and lit them all with her finger. Then she brought her hand to her mouth, and blew flames to the crowd. They curled in the air over the children, blasting heat into their faces.

Millard, who had been sitting in the crowd between acts, went back up onstage

"Now, introducing the newest members of our little group, Mr. Abraham Portman, and Miss Margret Fichter."

All of the children began to cheer as a pit of dread formed in Margaret's stomach. Victor who sat behind her, gently, which was still rather forceful, nudged her towards the stage. Margaret followed Abraham up on the stage. They both stood awkwardly, Abraham with his hands in his pockets, and Margaret staring at the ground.

"First up, Mr. Portman." Millard announced, then he whispered just to Abraham "Show everyone what you can do. You got it, mate."

"Well" he said, then paused. "We killed one of those hollow things, with the rotting skin, and large tongues."

There were murmurs in the crowd.

"You saw it..." said Millard, clearly surprised. "and you killed it?"

"Yes?" Abraham said, clearly confused " You can't see..."

He was cut off by Millard 

"Well, this is our very own hollow seer folks ."

Millard waited for the crowd to mellow before turning to Margaret

"And what about you, Miss Margaret? What special talents do you have?"

"Is this really necessary?" she asked, eyeing the stairs, already beginning to back up "I don't feel the need to..."

"Nonsense." he interrupted, "There's nothing to be worried about, none of us here will be afraid of you."

"I don't think?" In her step back towards the stairs, Margaret's shoe caught on the stage. In her stumble, Millard stooped to catch her, his hands touching hers. Within an instant, she disappeared, leaving only a floating dress and pair of shoes.

"What the devil." Someone in the crowd said

Margaret looked out to the crowd, and saw the surprised and shocked expressions on the children's faces. Pure dread rushed through her veins, and Margaret felt as if her heart was pounding out of her chest. She turned away from the crowd, not wanting to see their emotions. She felt the tears well up in her eyes as she glared at the boy responsible for this. Instead of being meet with nothing, Margaret was met with freckly pale skin, a mop of sandy brown hair, and light blue eyes that held surprise, confusion, and... pity.

"Margaret I..." he croaked out, stepping towards her "I'm so sorry... I-"

"Don't bother." She said, quickly whipping at her face. 

Margaret was angry. Angry at herself for beginning to feel safe here. Angry at Millard for revealing her peculiarity. Hell, she was angry at the war for sending her in the first place. Margaret wanted to scream, wanted to cry. So she did the only thing she could think of. Margaret ran. She leapt off the stage and began to flee through the yard. She could hear the cry of the children behind her, calling her name, but she was already in the woods.