Jane Eyre

Dear Jane,

Good evening, my dear. I hope you are well. I hope you sleep well, and I hope you feel good in the morning.

Red rocks cascade my visions against a tumbling, mixed bath of foamy, windy sea, and I picture your luminous eyes staring in between the sun and clouds, so gleaming and misty.

This vision only leads to one query: how is your art? I truly hope you are honing it and creating new chapters.

This past fortnight I’ve gotten accustomed to a rather unwholesome feeling, and to say it is wretched and creeping inside of my stomach and guts, is to say something very undervalued to what I truly mean.

The mad raven shall never let me go, and I feel I cannot escape with a legal method. Divorce is not a valid option with my insane, unstable wife, her own brother will stab me in my back if he were to understand my notions of being a bachelor once again. I know you understand my meaning.

I love you always, my dear. I will always try to get back to you, and I will write to you until my dying breath. You are my truest friend, and companion.

Yours,

Edward Rochester