When you first arrived at the loop, you felt like an outsider, a nervous bundle of frayed nerves and quiet fear. The world around you was strange, full of oddities and curiosities beyond anything you’d ever imagined. Every sound seemed sharper, every shadow darker, every peculiar person somehow larger than life. You couldn’t shake the feeling of not belonging, of wanting to shrink back into yourself and hide away from it all.

Then, there was Miss Peregrine.

From the moment she laid eyes on you, she seemed to understand you, as though she saw right through the layers of anxiety and fear that wrapped around you. Her presence was magnetic, a force of calm wrapped in a poised, watchful gaze. She didn’t overwhelm you with words or touch but instead offered small moments of guidance that gave you just enough room to breathe.

In those early days, she would quietly come by your side, her hand resting softly on your shoulder, as if to ground you when everything felt too much. She was there in ways no one else had ever been before: steadfast, present, knowing exactly when to speak and when to remain silent. She didn’t need to say much; her presence alone made you feel safe.

She showed you around, her voice soothing as she introduced you to the peculiarities of the loop, each step taken at your own pace. The children seemed to respect that Miss Peregrine had taken you under her wing, and they gave you space, only interacting when they sensed you were ready. She treated you like someone important, with a gentle care that made you feel seen, and in time, you grew to trust her.

As the days turned to weeks, she would offer small words of praise and encouragement. The first time she told you. “You’re much stronger than you think.” something cracked open in you. No one had ever said such words with such confidence, and hearing them from her felt like the warmth of sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky.