You hadn’t grown up with parents. An orphan around seven years, you were shuffled between foster homes in the ordinary town just outside the loop. But no matter how hard you tried, you never quite fit in. The other children at the orphanage didn’t understand why you rocked back and forth when you were anxious or why you covered your ears when the world got too loud. Even the adults found you strange, sometimes treating you with impatience, other times with pity.

One day, while wandering alone near the outskirts of town, you stumbled upon the old, seemingly abandoned house that everyone else was too scared to approach. Something about the house drew you in—it felt safe, like a bubble of quiet in a world that was always too noisy and too bright. That’s when Alma found you, standing in the garden with your little hands clasped tightly, staring up at the peculiar old mansion.

Alma had taken one look at you, with your shy demeanor and the way you flinched at the sudden sound of a bird’s call, and she understood. She invited you into the loop, not because you had powers like the others, but because she saw something special in you. She saw a child who didn’t belong in the harsh world outside, a child who needed a place to be safe, to be understood.

Alma was patient with you. She noticed the way you sometimes stared off into space, lost in your thoughts, and the way you stiffened when someone got too close too quickly. She didn’t mind when you needed time alone, sitting quietly by the lake or hiding in your favorite nook in the library. She let you be yourself, something no one had ever let you do before.

But even in the loop, you still had moments where it was hard. There were days when everything felt too much—the sounds, the chatter, the touch of the other children trying to pull you into their games. On those days, Miss Peregrine would sit with you, her presence calm and soothing. "What about a history, hm?"