Prologue

„Is he still in there?", John asked as he entered the house.

Mary nodded. „John, I´m starting to get really worried about him. He doesn´t leave that room, he barely eats anything and if you try to talk to him, it seems like he doesn´t hear you at all..."

Edward Fairfax Rochester was sitting in an ample armchair in the best room of Ferndean, a half-full bottle of absinthe standing next to him, a glass in his hand. There was a fire in the fireplace, but apart from that no candle was burning, no shaft of sunlight entered the room, the windows were covered. But Mr. Rochester wasn´t aware of any of that. He dwelt on his comfortless thoughts...

Oh Jane, my angel, where are you? What have I done to you? What a fool I have been to deceive you...

Oh, when I remember the look upon your face the moment you found about my wife... The pain, the grief...

I realized I lost you at that instant. You would never become involved with a man who was already married. No, not Jane Eyre, the most decent woman I have ever known...

But instead of hating me, instead of shouting at me, you just looked at me with these true, soft eyes which were filled with tears and I could feel my heart break at that sight. I made you cry, me, though I had sworn myself never to hurt or to disappoint you , but to be there for you, to make you happy. I begged you to forgive me, assured you, that we would find a way to be together, but you wouldn´t answer my desperate pleas, you wouldn´t even let me touch you, let me be close to you; that was all I´ve ever longed for...

And now, now you are gone. Not only do my eyes not see light anymore, my soul and my heart don´t, either. For with you, all that has enlightened my life has vanished also...

One single tear ran down his cheek. He drank one more glass of absinthe, trying to drown his pain in alcohol, trying to forget all about the woman he loved.