Page 63 of Zenith
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Dear reader,
Iwrote this story, this autobiography of a girl given the name Jane Doe as a babe—a poor, plain, unwanted nobody—so you can finally see the whole for what it is. The years have passed, and the story remains, twisted by time and embellished by naysayers.
The madwoman locked away in secret inside Thornfield. The treachery of Blanche Ingram. The hopelessness of Edward Rochester’s lot in life. The toil and tribulations I faced at the hands of others. The pure innocence of Alice Fairfax. The unashamed bohemia of Adele Varens. The unwavering loyalty of Bessie. The desperate love of Georgiana Reed. The faltering of John Rivers’s brilliant mind. The spite of Sarah Reed.
Here lies the euphoria, the paradox, and the zenith in all its gory details. It is the truth, and finally, the world can see the legacy of the Rochester dynasty for what it really is. Defined by despair but guided by love.
I only hope that others are as lucky as I am to have found their match in life, for despite the hardships I have faced, it came to me, and I have embraced it with open arms.
Truly, forgiveness is the final form of love.
Yours,
Jane Eyre.
