Jillian quietly stared out of her window at the village orphanage. With a glum expression, she watched the younger children playing in the front yard of the building, chasing each other or whatever happened to stray accross their path, like rats or gnomes.

Come to think of it, she hadn't seen a cheeky gnome or even an imp in a long, long time. As long as she could remember, King Palumer has led his campain to drive out every magical creature from the land until she could hardly picture what the things looked like.

The unicorns and dragons were all gone and which creature was next?

With a sigh, Jillian pushed herself out of her thoughts and turned towards the door. The reason she was not out playing was because her time was up. Due to the number of orphans in Grimm, the orphanage had an age limit for its occupants. When you turn sixteen, you're out. No excuses, tricks, or sob-stories.

Jillian wasn't exactly sure what day her birthday was, but she was told to have been born in March. It had been March for a week and a half so she knew Mrs. Brinks would be storming up here any day now to literally toss her out into the mud with her infamous, "When you're out, you're out!"

She could hardly wait for that.

Some teens actually ran off before thier birthdays so they wouldn't recieve a backside of mud on their first day in the "real world." Personally, Jillian would take every free meal she could get before she was shoved out. That was one of the things that scared her. She wasn't sure how she would survive out there. Boys were able to become cabin boys or be apprentices to silversmiths or wood carvers but girls....didn't have many options. Be a seamstress if you were good at it or sweep a taven. Jillian couldn't sew to save her life and being a barmaid didn't exactly scream success in life.

The thumping sound of boots in the hallway, made her heart race. The door was flung open and the formidable Mrs. Brinks loomed in the doorway. "I suppose you know what day it is," the woman sneered.

The girl groaned and stood up from her chair. "I guess I'm out then."

"As out as you could possibly be."

Jillian tried to scrub the mud off her skirt with her hands but it was no use.

She sniffered her hands and gagged. "Oh, that is not mud."

She glared at all the other orphans, who had run inside as she was tossed out. They were all staring at her through the windows with owl-like expressions. Some of the younger ones had never seen an "outing."

"When you're out, you're out!" Mrs. Briks shouted after her. And slammed the door to the orphanage. Jillian was officially a street rat. Joy.

For a moment, she stood there, not sure where to go or what to do. This was it. Crossing the threshold to the rest of her life. She slowly stepped off the curb into the road.

"Welcome to the rest of your life," she whisphered to herself, and started down the road.

Naturally, growing up in an orphanage meant she had no money. She supposed her first step was to make some. She paused outside of a toy maker's shop. Perhaps the owner would take her instead of a boy. She knew quite a bit about toys and had always helped the younger orphans share. With a deep breath, she marched into the store.

The toy maker was an old man with stark white hair and a bushy mustache to match. He had been making a marionette doll and hadn't noticed her until she cleared her throat.

He hardly glaced at her before returning to his work. "Why don't you have a look around, miss. Cuckoo clocks and windups are half off today."

"Ummm, sir?" Jillian tried not to lose her nerve. "I'm looking for a job. Here. You see, I would be a very hard worker and I could even-."

"You?" The toy maker goggled at her. He looked her up and down with a bewhildered expression. Jillian blushed, hoping her muddy dress didn't look as bad as she thought. She sliently cursed Mrs. Brinks.

"Aren't wenches like you supposed to be seamstresses or barmaids?" he asked.

"Well, most are, but I was hoping you could let me work here instead. I could sweep the floor, arrange shelves, mind the children-."

"Are you saying I don't run my store right?!" the man yelled, glaring at her with such ferocity, she took a couple of steps back.

This conversation was not going how she planned. "Oh no, sir. I just thought-."

The man's face flushed. "You thought wrong! In fact, you really shouldn't be thinking at all! So are you going to buy something or not?"

Jillian shifted uncomfortably. "I don't actually have any money. I just got kicked out of the orphanage ten minutes ago."

And that was how she found herself sitting in the mud for the second time that day. Must be a new record. "That went well," she grumbled. She stomped down the road, ignoring the strange looks she was getting from the townspeople.

It was the same thing in the bakery, bookshop, and shoe store. Failure, failure, failure. On a whim, she asked for a job at the slaughter house and the smell was enough to make her not care that much about that particular rejection.

She sighed as she found herself outside a seamstress's shop. Jillian swallowed her pride and walked in. It was a blur of fabric, thread and needles. About a dozen women and girls diligently sewed garments on one side of the store and a plump, pleasant-looking woman waited on customers on the other. She stepped carfully around the workers and cautiously approached the woman, who she assumed was the owner.

The woman noticed her and smiled warmly. "Hello, dear. I'm Ethel. Are you looking for a dress today?" Her eyes flickered over Jillian's worn dress with an almost pitying expression. Mrs. Brinks only gave a child new clothes when they were practically falling off of you and hers were practically rags.

Jillian shook her head. "No, ma'am, I'm looking for a job."

Ethel's smile widened. "Wonderful! In fact, we have an opening! What's your name, dear?"

She could hardly believe her luck. She now had to tell her that she couldn't sew, but could do other things. "Jillian, ma'am."

"What a pretty name for such a pretty girl!" Ethel gushed. "And such beautiful eyes!"

Jillian blinked. Her? Pretty? She didn't really think so herself. Yeah, her name was as nice as names go, but pretty? No one had ever told her that. Mrs. Brinks wasn't really one to give out compliments. Jillian's hair was dark,frizzy, and hardly managable. She felt she was too short, which made people think she was younger than she actually was. She once thought her eyes were beautiful. They were an intersting shade of violet. She used to like them because no one else had eyes that color. But that was also the reason why everyone teased her about them.

This sudden compliment took her so off guard she missed the next thing Ethel said. "....ready for you."

"Hmmm?"

Ethel pointed to a chair amongst the seamstresses, with fabric piled next to it. Jillian's heart sank. "Umm, Ethel? I can't sew," she blurted.

The woman's cheery face fell. "What? Then why did you ask for a job?"

Jillian tried to explain. "Well I thought that maybe...I could...you know, do other things. Like, sweep, dust...or orgainze stuff..." she tried off lamely.

Ethel laughed. "I do all those things myself. And I have a lad who comes in every so often to help out, so sadly, you are not needed." She gave Jillian a pitying smile. She was definetly pitying her.

The girl swallowed hard. "Thanks anyway." She walked slowly to the door. She was about to walk out when-

"Wait! Jillian!" Ethel called.

A bubble of hope surged in her chest. "Yes?" she asked turning.

"I heard the local tavern is looking for another barmaid! Perhaps you should check it out."

The bubble burst.