One thing the nuns at St. Agnes Orphanage agreed on after taking in their newest charge, was that Mary Sue Poots was an unusual child.

Over the years St. Agnes had welcomed many babies dropped off on their doorstep, usually with a card stating the child's name or sometimes with a short note - either a thank you to the nuns or a letter addressed to the child to be read once they were a little older. The nuns always felt the same after discovering a new child on their doorstep: sympathy towards both the child who would have to face the system and to the child's parent who most likely thought the child had a better chance at the orphanage.

Almost every child dropped off at St. Agnes - whether they were babies, toddlers, or young children - reacted the same way. For the first couple of days, the child would cry almost non-stop, asking where their mommy or daddy was and, if they were a little older, stating that they would be a good boy or girl if their parents would just take them back. The next few days after that the child would usually be a bit withdrawn and silent, before perking back up into a child's normal cheerfulness. Occasionally a child will act a bit differently. Some children will cry for weeks after being deposited at St. Agnes, and every so often a child will perk up a bit faster than most.

Almost every single child who has become a ward at St. Agnes acted within these parameters, but, the nuns supposed, there was always an exception to the rule, and that exception came in the form of Miss Mary Sue Poots.

Dropped off on the doorstep at maybe, the nuns guessed, a year old, she had been taken inside, fed, clothed, bathed, and changed into a fresh nappy, as was the usual routine upon finding a new charge waiting for them in the morning - after all, you never know how long the poor dear had been outside in the cold.

The baby girl had never put up a fuss, which Ms. Sarah, the nun who had found her and was currently taking care of the girl while the others woke up the other children and prepared them for a new day, thought it was definitely strange, especially when she remained silent during her bath, which almost every child tended to put up a fuss about. If not for the fact that the child would occasionally make a gurgle or a murmur here or there, Ms. Sarah would've thought the child was mute.

The orphanage had hosted children like this as well, ones who were almost as silent as the grave and more withdrawn than was healthy, but never had they encountered one so young.

Perhaps, if silence was Mary's only quirk, then the nuns would find it easy to dismiss Mary as a normal child. However, there was one a very obvious aspect of Mary that was difficult to forget or ignore: her eyes. Unnerving pools of café noir, they sucked you in and promised to never let go. They were eyes that have seen something not meant for our eyes.

Most of the nuns thought she had, perhaps, seen the face of God, and was blessed. However, there were some who were convinced she had, instead, seen the face of the devil.

Despite some of the nun's suspicions, later that day, after the children who had gone off to school in the morning had returned, Mary was introduced to the other children. Many of them had cooed at the adorable baby, and Mary had been welcomed into the St. Agnes family.