Disclaimer: How shall I put it? It's just horrible... but no, Jane Eyre, St. John Rivers, Edward Rochester and Cia. do not belong to me...They belong to the wonderful Charlotte Bronte. However, those few characters that are not from the original book do belong to me...

Prologue

Dear reader, I married him. Need I say that it was not out of love? Need I tell you of the violent turmoil within my heart?

Before the altar of that remote country church, there was a young man at my side. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen matching a most beautiful profile, as pure as that of a Greek god from ancient times, and framing his alabaster face, wavy strands of light blond hair that gave him the airof one of those unearthly archangels I had admired in many a book, painted by the great masters of Florence. A handsome man he was, with his well-shaped hands and arms, his far-off gaze and calm demeanor.

And yet, in that cold november day, before God and men, I was not thinking about him. In fact, my mind had grown wings of its own and had flown far away from this country parish, my spirit had crossed over mountains and had survived storms; my soul had started a maddening trip into my past. But I must not talk in such a wild language, I should abhor these savage words and my thoughts need to be explained.

Delicate, almost artistical fingers took my small hand and I was startled out of my reverie. The cool touch of the foreign skin sent chills through my body; but I was not trembling with anticipation, dear reader, I was trembling with disgust. Oh, do not take me wrong, do not read in this hasty words an insult to the man who was slipping a ring around my finger, to him who was pronouncing eternal vows towards me. I said disgust, but this foul feeling was directed to my own despicable person, for I had fallen very low, and in my shame I was a lone culprit.

I was a liar. As Mr. Brockelhurst had once said, many years ago, dissimulation was in my nature, and I was a deceiving creature. I had always resented this unfair judgement brought upon me by the head-master of Lowood School, that inhospitable place where I had spent my sorrowful childhood. But in this grey morning, in the dimness of this House of God, at this agonizing moment of my young life, I realised that the loathed parson who had filled my tender years with fright had been right about me all along.

The ceremony was soon over. My mind was invaded with images of another church, of another place, of a life lived long ago, many centuries had seen the sun go down and emerge anew since these images had taken place, the pictures of this existence which was no longer mine, and the heart I had once possessed was devoted to another man, he who was dark and had shadows all around him.

So gentle reader, I did marry him, and if not out of love, at least out of friendship, out of duty, out of...despair. I was fulfilling my destiny, obeying the will of Our Celestial Lord. I, Jane Eyre, had been created to lead a life of hardship, to content myself with the honest reward that could only come by knowing that my insignificant being was useful to my brothers and sisters in God. I was to find a shelter in the vast desert of self-denial; all those thorny feelings of love, the neverending disillusions of passion, I would shut them up, throwing the Pandora's Box, in which they would be imprisoned, into the freezing waters where lost memories dwelt.

Yes, I had married St. John Rivers for I was to become his helpmate, and through him I would find my way to redemption; my shattered heart would bury its pain with endless labor; my beautiful England would disappear behind me, and my resolution would always push me forward. Broader horizons were waiting for me.