My deepest apologies for taking so long to post.

Her body was colder than I'd expected. It seemed to have ice burns from prolonged exposure to the cold. Nonetheless, I would warm it.

She dissipated easily, I believe she secretly wanted me to takeover, to give her strength.

It had been so long since I'd had a body made of flesh and blood. I could hear her, my, heart ticking; I could feel the blood pumping through my veins and knew that I was alive or as close to it as I could now come.

I rejoiced with a delighted squeal. This, unfortunately, sent him to me.

"Jane?" He cried, entering her room. "I thought I heard a familiar cackle. Are you all right?"

"Of course." I was surprised to find that my voice had become hers. "Edward go back to bed."

He gave me a quizzical look and I remembered that she always referred to him as Mr. Rochester. The title burned me even though I hadn't said it. The man who had been too much of a coward to kill me, but had had the strength to lock me away and take all of my freedoms deserved no titles. Yet Jane still felt insane love and compassion for this man. And I had to act the part. Until it was time for me to act out my plan.

"I am tired from my journey… sir." The word stuck in my throat.

Even connected to this physical form, as I was, I was not physical myself and the calm peacefulness of sleep evaded me. Night was my only companion as I lay in her bed, listening. I could hear all of the creaks of Ferndean. It reminded me of my time in Thornfield's attic, where I would sit up all night and hear the old house and its inhabitants sleep. I resented the peaceful, rhythmic breathing of the house, which, even in life, I had never been able to achieve. No, my sleep was plagued with constant anger and hatred, which boiled my blood and made rest impossible. So often I had slipped out of my prison during these dark hours and found that the conscience of my husband had not prevented him from getting a good night's sleep.

In these moments, the idea of murder would come to my mind, yet something would always hold me back and now I knew what it was. My husband deserved more than murder; he deserved to be punished. And what greater punishment than to be killed by the one you love.

Finally morning came, I was only able to tell, because the servants began to clamor down the stairs. The sky was grey with vicious, thundering cloud that fed the air with an energy that could rip a man to shreds. I could not have asked for a more perfect day for my revenge.

I found Rochester sitting in the living room, his eyes were glued to an open book, but I could see from his tapping foot that he was impatient for me… Jane, to approach him. A smile tinged Jane's lips and I gave him his wish.

"Jane!" is eyes blazed with happiness as he set the book down and embraced me.

I can't remember the last time I felt his warm embrace. Years ago I may have still relished it, but not now. However, Jane seemed to want it. She dug her nails into Rochester's arms and held on with an iron-like grip. I think she thought that she was safe with him. She was wrong.

She was such a weak little thing and it was easy to crush her pitiful attempt at resistance. I tore away from Rochester.

"Jane?" His voice quivered as I removed myself from him. The strength of the old master of Thornsfield, of my jailer, had all but vanished from his voice and I could see from his similarly shaking body that the rest of him was not far behind. I wondered just how much of this was due to me and my visitations to him as an apparition.

"Come, my love," I took his hand and somehow Ms. Eyre retaliated again and I found myself squeezing Rochester's hand. I ignored her resistance, but it troubled me that she was able to resist me. ", let us breakfast."

We entered the dining hall hand in hand and I noticed the quiet smile and twinkling eyes of the maid staring at us. Quickly, I dropped Rochester's hand, much to his disappointment, I must add, and took my seat at the table. Rochester took his seat at the head of the table, opposite from me.

Breakfast was served promptly. I took all of my self-control to not grab the food in chunks and stuff it into my mouth. I am no barbarian, but it had been some time since food or drink had passed through my lips. Rochester noticed my hesitation and inquired. "My dear Jane, what is the matter?"

I shook my head and attempted to smile sweetly, though I am sure with Jane's face I only appeared to be scowling. "Nothing…sir." The word still stuck in my throat. "It's just that the food seems so insignificant when I now have you sitting across from me."

"Quite so!" He agreed, slamming his napkin down onto the table and standing up, all in one fluid motion. "Jane," He walked over to me and took my hand. ",come let us have some alone time."