Oh dear reader what terrible circumstances I write to you under. By the orders of my beloved master I am to participate in a party he has thrown at the house. As of now I sit in the corner of the room in solitude, the only attention the others pay to me is to throw a look of disgust or superiority. But what can I expect? I am in a room with the likes of Blanche Ingram, who is just as lovely as her profile pictures. I do not think I would fit in with this crowd even if they did not dislike me so, the women are fair and tall, and the men are handsome and brash. I wish to leave but I must find solitude in my book and in talking to you dear reader, farewell for now, I am resigned to my evening.
Oh dear reader how i envy the beautiful, how easy it must be to fall in love with one who could ever love you back. Dear reader, my heart aches for my master, dearest Mr. Rochester. However, we are not meant to be, for his heart is undoubtably to be given to another, a Blanche Ingram, a woman of exquisite beauty and breeding. How crude i am in comparison! How plain! How dull! why did i ever allow my heart to dream of love so impossible? allow myself to wish for a life so unrealistic? Dear reader look upon the pictures i have drawn of Blanche and I, compare her beauty to my plainness…I am done for today dear reader…
Oh dear reader i have such troubles to tell you. Last night, before the rosy dawn had peaked her scarlet tendrils acorss the cold slate sky, i awoke to a demon like laugh that chilled be to the bone. I tried to ignore the hellish cachinnation and return to my slumber but i found i could not. I arose and looked out into the hallway to see an orange glow and rings of smoke emanating from the door of my master, Mr.Rochester. I burst in to find the curtains alight with flames and my master fainted upon the bed, unaware of the danger that lurked less than a yard away. i ran to the wash basins, which were thankfully full, and threw their contents onto the curtains and my unconscious master. Upon his waking, he proclaimed the fire an accident and bid me to go to bed. To be blunt, I do not believe that the flame was born of a forgotten candle but of the hands of one Grace Poole, a seamstress with a haunting, hellish laugh and rather brutish habits.
I am Jane Eyre, an English governess of the age of 19. My parents died shortly after my birth and I was reared by my horrid Aunt Reed until the age of 11 when i was sent to Lowood School. I remained at Lowood for many years, graduating at the top of my class and then returning to teach at that very school for another two years. However, i was eventually overcome with such a wanderlust that i had to leave to find my own place in the world. Today, i am working as a governess at Thornwood manner and this is the story of my life. Farewell for today dear reader.