Margaret had decided that her favorite room in the house was the library. It was cozy with its large windows and dark wood shelves. The room had a nice smell of old pages and lavender. Rain would often pound onto the glass, the only light either from the cloudy sky or the warm toned lamps. Margaret had found a particular corner that she enjoyed the most. It had started with the finding of a worn armchair that was perfect for hours of sitting. She had dragged a small table and lamp over so she could stay late into the night. A blanket was placed there for when the room became draft, or the cold from the window next to her got to her bones.

It was on rainy days that she found herself here. The schooling lessons for the younger children ended after twelve, meaning after that it was free game. It was one of these days in the early afternoon that Margaret had settled into her chair with a book. A shelf over, an invisible boy furiously scribbled away. Millard was also a frequent occupant of the library. Most days she was there, so was he. They stayed in an agreed silence, comfortable with each other's presence but not much else.

On most days, Margaret was able to ignore the scratching of pens as he wrote, blocking it out for whatever literature she was reading, but today she just couldn't seem to. After an hour of losing focus on her book, Margaret walked over to him. The lack of shoes on her sock covered feet made it easy for Margaret to quietly pad across the floor. She looked over his shoulder to see Millard writing in the margins of a very large book, opened to what appeared to be a map of France. Small markings dotted the country at seemingly random spots, words over them like "Miss Coal Tit 1815" or "Miss Honeyguide 1928". Margaret realized after a few seconds of studying that this must be all of the loops in France. Her eyes followed around the page, looking for a certain name, and stopped when she noticed a mistake.

Margaret didn't know why she spoke up. Maybe it was because the small amount of information was so important to her that she needed to fix it. Or, maybe she just wanted to prove Millard wrong.

"That's wrong." even her quiet voice seemed loud in the library

"Jesus Christ!" The floating sweater jumped up before whipping around "A little warning next time? Yeah?"

"Sorry." she mumbled "that is wrong though."

"What's wrong?" his voice was still loud, having not recovered

Margaret's arm reached over Millard's shoulder to point at a dot labeled "Miss Cardinal 1924"

"It's not in 1924, it's in 1935." the pad of her finger traced the outline of the writing

"No it's not, it's definitely 1924." Millard sounded so sure of himself, and while it didn't make Margaret's blood boil, it definitely made it simmer.

"No, it's 1935."

He scoffed and turned towards her "and how would you know?"

"I met Miss Cardinal herself." she was shamelessly smug in her answer, not feeling the least bit remorseful. Now she was just mocking him.

Millard huffed, and turned back in his seat. He picked up his pen and angrily scratched out the date, writing in 1935 over it. Feeling accomplished with what she had done, Margaret walked to the door of the library, the peaceful atmosphere gone for the day. 

The air was hot as the fire grew. Ash flew through the air as soldiers surrounded a group of people, their tinted glasses reflecting the flames. They all wore nightclothes, some even bare footed. They huddled around each other as the men closed in. Soldiers walked around the circle, examining the people. They pulled a grouping of children out of the hands of a stoic looking woman. There was a boy and girl, definitely related. They had stringy dark hair, and wide bugged eyes. They stumbled forwards on the cobblestones, bare toes turning bloody. The other girl had reddish hair in plats, and clung harder to the woman holding her. Her fingers left a death grip on the woman's robe, the fabric her anchor. Her eyes widened as they grabbed her forearms, prying her off. The older women screamed in protest, lunging for the girl. It happened quickly; a soldier stepped forward, there was a metallic click, an intake of breath. Within an instant a gun shot was heard. The woman fell, her blonde locks stained red. The liquid oozed into the cobblestone, running in between the cracks. She didn't get up. The girl wailed, as her capture grabbed her waist, pulling her back. She kicked and flailed, trying to break loose, but with no avail.

It was in a dark cell that they kept her, three other poor souls in the brick room as well. She knew there were monsters outside of the door. She couldn't see them but, just like everyone else, she knew they were there. She could smell their putrid stench, hear their ragged breaths as they stood, just waiting. Every once and a while, what she could only assume to be a tentacle would slide through the bars and wrap around someone. In some regard, the monsters were better than the men. At least the monsters stood on the other side of the bars. When the men would come, she would selfishly hope that they would take another one of the prisoners and not her. Today she wasn't lucky. They grabbed her bruised arms and dragged her out.

She didn't fight anymore as they strapped her to the table. She didn't flinch as they stuck wires to her head. When she saw the syringe full of black liquid, she prepared herself. No matter how many times they did this, she always screamed.

Margaret woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. He labored breaths filled the rooms and fearful whimpers escaped her lips. Margaret kicked until her body was free from the suffocating quilt trapping her. The cool air felt good on her legs as sweat dripped across her forehead, her loose hair sticking to the damp skin. She pulled her knees up to her chest as the tears began falling down her freckled face. Margaret whimpered again, and pressed her face into her legs, fists gripping tightly onto the sheets.

It took some time before Margaret's head emerged. It took an embarrassing amount of strength for her shaky arms to push her off the bed. Her breathing had begun to even out as she walked out the bedroom door. In the few weeks she had been there, Margaret had begun to learn which board let out the loudest creaks and which steps groaned throughout the house. Still, her current state led to Margaret making a few mistakes as she moved to the kitchen, her only goal to reach the back door.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

She rapidly spun around, the voice breaking her out of a haze. From the living room doorway stood a figure. Tall and lanky, Abraham shuffled into the kitchen. He looked over the disheveled girl and frowned

"Are you alright." he asked, stepping forward

"Yes" she rasped, voice shaky

"You're clearly not."

Her voice broke "What does it matter?"

"Margaret it does matter" he gripped her shoulder, moving down to look into her eyes. "Why don't you open up to us? Please, we're here for you. I know it's scary, but you could have a family here, Margaret. You're safe here."

The word "safe" rang around Margaret's skull, seeping into her brain. She looked up at him with pain in her eyes

"You don't know anything, Abraham."

"So tell me." his voice was rasing, eyes piercing into her soul "Please, Margaret, help me understand."

She pulled out of his grasp

"No, Abraham. I will not." fresh tears began to burn behind Margaret's eyes "There are things you will never understand. You cannot help me."

She turned, starting her walk back to the stairs.

"Margaret, wait." It fell on deaf ears.

As she moved, a hand caught her arm. Before Margaret could pull away, the boy behind her caught a glimpse of the tattoo. The horrid 0048 staining skin. Abraham quickly let go, Margaret's hand falling limply to the side. She stood, gaze towards the ground, mouth open for words that would not form

"They took your family too?" His voice was quiet, words that seemed dangerous spoken aloud.

Margaret looked up, her gaze settling on Abraham. Once again words failed her.

Abraham continued. "I was the youngest of my siblings, so I was the one they sent on the train out of Poland. It was only a few days later that they stopped letting children out. They began to round everyone up and..." he paused "I don't know where they are, let alone if they are even alive."

A heavy silence filled the air. It hung like fog, daring someone to speak.

"It started a year ago" her voice broke through the dark. Margaret moved to sit on the bottom stair, Abraham on the floor. Now they were both the same height "It began when a new police force began arresting all of the Jewish families. I didn't understand at the time, but Mutter did. Tried to hide our neighbors. It didn't take long to find them. They came with different soldiers this time. Ones that wore sunglasses at night."

"Wights?" Abraham cut in

Margaret nodded her head

"They burned my house down. When we all went into the streets, they were there. They had a hollow to sniff the peculiars out. They... um... shot anyone who tried to stop them from taking us. They took us to a special facility, all run by them. They.." She paused for a minute, then continued "They mostly fed the weaker ones to hollow, but some of us were their lab rats. Because of what I could do, they used me in experiments. I don't know what they did to me, but I haven't felt the same since. Eventually, I escaped and found myself at that refugee camp, where I was for a month, until The Bird came." she finished, her eyes glossed over.

All was silent.

"Thank you for telling me, Margret." 

"You can call me Margie, my old friends did that."

"Thank you, Margie." he said with a hint of a smile in his voice

"Thank you as well, Abraham."

"Call me Abe." 

As the two walked up the stairs in a new found comfort, a movement could be seen in the dark of the hall. It was the shutting of the basement, oiled to make no noise. A click of the latch was all that was heard.