Birdie woke in a soft, warm bed to a sun dappled afternoon, a stark contrast to the place she'd been before. She was in a room with delicate white lace curtains and spots of sun shone through, warming her face. "Miss Peregrine, she's awake," a little girl called, jarring Birdie from observing the drastic change in scenery.

"Claire, darling, don't shout. I'm sure our guest is not quite in tip top condition yet," a woman's voice softly scolded. The sudden yelling had made Birdie's ears ring, but it was far less frightening than the place she had come from. Though, it still unnerved her to be in yet another unfamiliar place. Cautiously sitting up, Birdie once again looked about the room until her eyes landed on the door as the young girl ran out and a woman with perfectly coiffed dark blue hair entered. Birdie shrank back, not sure if she should be considered friend or foe.

"Fear not. I know you've had an awfully trying day, but I assure you that you are most safe here," she soothed. While she was still wary, there was something in the woman's voice and pleasant nature that calmed her anxieties. "My name is Alma LeFay Peregrine and when you're feeling up to it, I'd be happy to give you the grand tour. In the meantime, get as much rest as you feel you need and if you need to find me, I shall always be around, just ask one of the children and they'll point you in the right direction."

It was all quite a lot to take in, but Birdie did her best to follow along and nod at the right times. "Thank you," she replied, her quiet voice still betraying her uncertainty, which Alma seemed to understand, giving her a sympathetic nod before excusing herself to allow Birdie to rest.

Once the door clicked softly closed behind Alma, Birdie was left alone. She had a lot to think about, but it was all mixed up in her head. What had that man said about her? Something about peculiarity? She couldn't imagine that there was much of anything special about her at all, let alone peculiar.

Birdie rose from the bed, somewhat surprised that she was so steady on her own two feet. She began to pace the small bedroom, taking in the soft yellows and pale pinks that gave the room its light and safe feeling. While the room was almost certainly meant for a child, Birdie, with her small stature, felt none too cramped within it. Though she did have the sudden keen desire to explore.

Slowly she went to the door and placed her hand on the cool, metal knob, turning gently as if she expected someone to catch her. When she opened the door however, no one stood outside. So, Birdie left the room, wandering aimlessly about the house. It was larger than she had imagined it to be, as she came across room after room and a set of stairs that went both upwards and downwards. She decided to save the upper floor for a later time, should it come, and chose instead to head down a floor.

As she came to the halfway point of the staircase, she heard children's laughter coming from just outside. She could see a couple of shadows pass by the window. She'd reached the main floor then, she realized, coming the rest of the way down the stairs and pausing at the window. It was a bright and sunny day wherever she was, as she'd gathered from the dappled sun that had been coming through the window in the room she'd awoken in.

She smiled out at the children at play. There were many more than she'd expected, though she didn't bother to count them. Perhaps this place was an orphanage of sorts. Though if that were the case she couldn't imagine why she'd been brought here. She was no longer a child herself, at twenty one years of age. That's right, her birthday. She wondered if it was, in fact, still her birthday, or if the day had passed her by.

When she turned from the window she was startled to see the same woman from before quietly lingering behind her. "I didn't mean to frighten you," she said softly, "but neither did I wish to disturb. I, too, like to watch the children play when I'm able to find the time." She paused a moment to glance at her pocket watch, but then went on, though changing subjects. "Are you ready for that tour," she asked.

"Actually, I rather think I'd like to go outside," Birdie said, in the back of her mind planning an escape should it be needed.

"There's much to see out there as well," the woman replied. "Follow me." Birdie did as she had so gently instructed and was happy to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin as she stepped out into the light of day. She was shown the gardens and walked around the perimeter of the house, though she hadn't taken in much of what the woman was telling her. What was her name again? Miss Penny something? Perry? Peregrine. That was it.

"Miss Peregrine," Birdie said suddenly, unsure if she'd interrupted.

"Alma, please. Only the children need call me Miss Peregrine."

"Alma, then," Birdie corrected. "Do you know what happened to me? Why I was kidnapped and how I came to be here?"

"I admit I don't know every detail, but I may be able to fill in some of the gaps if you're sure you're ready to hear it."

"I think I am," Birdie replied.

"Let's sit," Alma offered as the two of them came into view of a bench. Then she began her tale. "You were taken by what we call wights. Who and what they are isn't important at the moment, all you need to know about them right now is that they are our enemies."

"When you say 'our', what do you mean by that?"

"Peculiars," Alma stated as if it were obvious. "Do you not know of our kind," Alma asked next as she saw the twisted look of confusion cross Birdie's features.

"I'm afraid I don't. Should I?"

"I suppose not," Alma replied. "You weren't raised in a loop. Your mother, she never told you about who you are?"

"I never knew my mother. I've only seen her in photographs. We have the same bright red hair, and my father always said I was the spitting image of her, but he hardly told me any more about her than that. Was my mother special? Was she peculiar?"

"She was. And I'm sorry to hear that you never knew her. I dread to think what must have befallen her. I know she loved you. I received a letter from her shortly after your birth, telling me about her darling daughter, Bridget, but it was also the last correspondence I ever received from her. I simply thought she had left this life behind as she always wished. Perhaps it's the reason the wights targeted you. You see, Miss Allen, you are like your mother, and like I myself am, a ymbryne."