Jane Bronte Novels & Stories

’ My feet carried me slowly, across the room, my fingertips brushing against the shelves before picking up a book. Persuasion by Jane Austen. Nostalgia hit me like a train. “It's still here…” I whispered, picking up another book. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. I flipped through the pages, inhaling the faint smell of old papers. “It's all here, Andrew.” I croaked. “I know…” he whispered. “What do you two want?” A haggard voice asked, walking close to us. My eyes landed on a wrinkly figure, a cane to balance her as she walked closer.

Rebecca said, turning to her side, "Your Majesty, meet Zita. She is my personal help and Lady Cathy's governess." "It's nice to meet you, Your Majesty." Zita said politely and curtsied. "Same here." Violet said calmly, with a warm smile. "Um, I would love to continue this conversation but I have to return home. My husband is coming back today and I..." Rebecca said as she collected Catherine from her, "...plan to surprise him by making him a special meal." Violet felt a little sad when Catherine returned to her mother.

She is not an unattractive woman; she just looks harsh, her hair dyed peroxide blonde (she is supposed to be a brunette but the dyeing has been done so well that an observer would never know for sure) and the dark suit she wears – not like the kind that David and his two visitors wear but that power suit that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the bitch role in a television show. As usual, she is still sifting through documents at her desk just after half past one in the morning. Sometimes the offices of Orson Industries seem busier at this time of night than during the day. She smiles humourlessly at this thought. When you have been in this job for long enough, you really don’t want to

Her father is hardly ever home, working long hours in the city while her mother spends most of her time grading papers from all of her high school students. She opens the door quietly, but there is no need. Her mother is still awake. She's curled up in the living room reading her latest adventure novel wrapped on the comfy (and dare she call ugly) recliner her father just had to have. Her curly auburn hair is up in a bun with a few stray strands spiraling free as her eyes intently scan the new Kindle she received for her birthday only a few weeks ago. It's safe to say she has become a little obsessed with it. Can't say Sera can blame her. She herself escapes to a different world every time s

It's been three days since she started delaying the inevitable event of being stuck with Dom in Canterbury. After minutes of pondering, she stood up and reached the small shelf of books she has. Her eyes locked on two books, Jane Eyre by Emily Bronte and Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. She had just finished reading Persuasion, and she was still on the assessment of her feelings towards the ending of the story. Maybe another book can take her mind off things. She decided on Great Expectations, gladly picking up the book and bouncing back to her bed, to enjoy another pleasurable surmount of reading a book.

He had thanked her, she had smiled while her stomach rebelled, and she had been on her way home. She arrived at her dingy, twelve-by-thirteen studio apartment in the worst part of Springfield. There was a twin bed, a two-burner stove, a mini-fridge, and a tiny shower stall next to the toilet. Once inside, she secured the three chain locks and two deadbolts and finally took a moment to relax. She took off her hair net and let her raven-black hair fall, and that took quite a while. Jane's hair reached all the way past her butt. She was only about five feet, five inches tall, and was petite on top of that. She wasn't emaciated, but she wasn't particularly muscled either. She had narrow hips and

Pride & Prejudice is in the public domain; however, giving credit where credit is due, it is the work of the absolutely brilliant Jane Austen. Anything you recognize is hers, the rest is mine. I'm just taking the opportunity to shake things up a bit. Or rather take the good fortune and coincidence scattered throughout the work and cranking it up a notch or three. Chapter 1

The next morning, he left. Jane was supposed to be living her best years, but she lived as though she was an old woman of seventy or eighty. During the winter, when it was sunny out, she would take her chair and her blanket, as well as a hot-water bottle to warm her hands and feet with. With these, she would sit on the porch and bask in the sun. She lived like she was dying. A new butler arrived at the manor. The new butler was often serious and expressionless, similar to Mr. Summers. Early in the morning, Jane could hear the old butler passing the baton to his successor.

He follows it up with silk hand gloves which he drops on my palms. Quietly, I follow his orders, taking care not to rip the hand gloves with my hastiness. "You can open it now." He pronounces. "You can't get much cleaner than that." With shaky hands, I skim the hand cover of the book, running my fingers through it and feeling the hard leather beneath my tips. Flipping it open, I stare in shock at the words written there. Pride and prejudice. Written by Jane Austen. Edited by William Gifford.

she said, voice clear and calm, "Charlotte Brontë gave Jane Eyre something no woman was readily granted in her day—rage, restraint, desire, independence. Jane chooses herself, even when it costs her the man she loves." A hand went up. "But doesn't she still end up with Rochester?" Fiona half-smiled, crossing her arms. "She does. But on her own terms. After it all. After taking her voice." She paced a bit, the edge of her coat sweeping across the floor. "That's what literature tends to teach us, subtly or otherwise. The price of selfness. The battle to be considered more than a role." Her own words ringing in her ears—the effort to be more than a title. Professor. Mother. Fake fiancée. Woman