This is my first fan fiction, so I thought I'd start simple. This is simply the last few chapters of Jane Eyre told from Edward's perspective. It starts at chapter 37, when Jane first arrives at Ferndean. Warning: written at 3 in the morning.

** I do not own Jane Eyre (obviously), and I pulled all the dialogue directly from the book so as to preserve the original feel of the book. I don't take credit for any dialogue, except for the short exchange between Mary and Mr. Rochester, which was of course not in the book. I did try to sort of capture Charlotte Bronte's manner of writing, but I gave up on that somewhat and let my own style peek through. Anyway, enjoy!

Part One

My keen ears detected the beginning of rainfall, but the pattering of the droplets in the forest did not sway my intent to be out of doors- it was almost as if some strange force was pulling me out of the manor. Making my way down the passages was more difficult than I should have liked; I had been here for what seemed to be forever, yet my wretched blindness was a constant companion, forever inhibiting me; though from what I knew not.

I paused and sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. Pain and grief ravaged my soul as I considered the conundrum I had put to myself: from what was I inhibited? In the end I was forced to concede that naught but my pride was wounded, that what I truly longed for, my Janet, I longed for with far more passion than I could ever be prevailed on to allot to the hope of restored vision.

But the impossibly small suggestion of something would not be ignored. Rousing myself and attempting with a swift shake of my head to dislodge my unpleasant train of thought, I continued down the hall, and, my left arm hidden in my jacket- though at the moment there was no one to hide the mutilated stump from, it was a habit- with my right hand I felt along the wall until I reached the door.

I unclosed it and stepped outside, where something in the air changed, suddenly. Rare, hot tears filled my eyes as my mind was pummeled with memories of my Janet. I knew not what it was that triggered such strong repercussions; it was almost as if my subconscious had caught some faint suggestion that she was near. But it was useless: I had to concentrate all of my mental efforts in an attempt to walk about; stretching forth my hand, I attempted to gain some notion of what lay near, but to no avail. I remembered, a distant memory, from lifetimes ago, that the trees lay some ways off as of yet, and as I had no desire to become lost in the forest, I crossed my arms about my chest and remained motionless. I could not help but look up, gazing towards the heavens and the trees, straining to see something, anything; but, alas, all remained invisible.

The rain was falling vigorously now, reminding me that I was wearing neither hat nor coat. I heard the door unclose and John's heavy footsteps on the gravel. 'Will you take my arm, sir?' he said; 'there is a heavy shower coming on: had you better not go in?' More so than usual I could not bear company.

'Let me alone,' I replied curtly, and I heard him withdraw.

I now attempted to walk about, but it was no use. My cursed darkness made it impossible and I had never felt so unsure, so unsteady. Arm outstretched, I found my way back to the door and closed it behind me. Returning to my room at the back of the manor, I stood in front of the neglected fire that I had forgotten again to tend and leaned my head on the mantel.

Through the despair that was my constant companion, I perceived that I was thirsty, and I remembered the comfort that the candles that were brought every night gave me: I rang the bell for Mary and she soon appeared with a quiet, 'Yes, sir?'

'Mary, fetch me a glass of water and my candles, please,' I said softly. I found I no longer had strength to speak louder.

'Yes, sir. And, sir, there is a person here who wishes to see you.' She spoke somewhat hesitantly, and there was a slight tremor of something different in her voice; I could not place it and decided it was not important. After all, what in my life was important anymore?

Shaking my head, I remembered what she said. Her news was mildly surprising: I rarely had visitors, and I usually refused to see anyone that did come.

'Tell him to send in his name and his business.'

'Yes, sir,' she said and her with her light tread unclosed the door and made her exit. I sighed, returning to my former position in front of the fire, weary enough to rest my head against the marble ledge, but unable to sit.

I heard the door open once again and Mary entered. Since I was blind, my hearing had rather sharpened and something about her footsteps was off. A memory tugged at the corner of my consciousness, but I brushed it off. Memories were dangerous to me, poison to my tortured heart. I heard the tray set down on a side table.

Pilot, however, seemed to notice something as well: he whined quietly and I heard him rise and greet the person who could only be my servant. 'Lie down!' a soft voice commanded. I turned automatically, attempting in vain to see; I of course saw nothing. I sighed.

'Give me the water, Mary.'

I was handed the glass and became aware that Pilot was following Mary. 'What is the matter?' I enquired of my dog. The slight difference in her footsteps, the tremor in her voice, Pilot's strange behavior; all was forming a picture in my mind- of what notion even I knew not what.

'Down, Pilot!' she said again. I halted the glass on its path: I listened, and drank. Mary neither retreated nor spoke another word, and some familiar electricity filled the air.

I set the glass down and swallowed hard as more pieces began to fall into place. The form they were creating was glorious and terrifyingly, dangerously, improbable. Impossible.

'This is you, Mary, is it not?' Before I was even finished uttering the question, I knew the answer. The footsteps, that fantastic hum in the air- and I finally placed Mary's earlier tone of voice: suppressed excitement? The memory found its place and even as she spoke I did not believe it.

'Mary is in the kitchen.' Five words; and oh! how they drove me into agony!

My hand reached out quickly and instinctively to grasp what I did not believe was there: I touched nothing. If the voice did indeed belong to substance, my wretched blindness prevented me from finding it. 'Who is this? Who is this?' I demanded harshly, impatiently. Never before had I wished so for my lost sight! 'Answer me- speak again!' I ordered the impossible voice.

'Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilt half of what was in the glass.' It took the whole of my will to not collapse at her words, her manner; it was perfectly her.

Perfectly a dream: a delusion. 'Who is it? What is it? Who speaks?'

'Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here. I came only this evening,' Jane Eyre said softly and calmly.

'Great God! What delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has seized me?'

'No delusion, no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong for delusion, your health to sound for frenzy.'

'And where is the speaker? Is it only a voice? Oh! I cannot see, but I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst! Whatever- whoever you are- be perceptible to the touch or I cannot live!'