Jane Bronte Novels & Stories

It's nasty and gory, and eventually Bronte loses too much blood from her neck wound and falls to the ground, saying," I give up! She lets out a feeble rasp before two doctors charge into the arena and drive numerous moonstone splinters into the corpse of the Ounsli girl. Cynthia spins around, grinning covered in blood, and I start to feel a little queasy as the crowd erupted in applause, declaring the victor of round one to be in stone. The next two girls are announced, but I'm not really paying attention to them; my eyes are locked on the Ounsli girl, her chest heaving as she struggles for air, and I find myself touching my own neck with a shaking hand—that could have easily been me. Cynthi

I said softly. She unwrapped it with the same gentleness, peeling back the paper to reveal a small bronze bookmark wrapped in tissue. It was old, beautifully engraved, with a quote etched in elegant lettering: You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. — Jane Austen. Annie went completely silent, running her fingertips across the metal like she was trying to memorize every curve. "Nate…" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "It's beautiful."

Aysel said, smiling warmly at him with her captivating hazel eyes. "Umm... that would be really nice of you," he stuttered, feeling his heart flutter at the enchantment of her innocent gaze. "What is her name, Sir?" Janetta asked, intervening in their conversation. "Emily-Emily Bronte," the man said. "Emily Bronte? Do you know about her?" Aysel asked Janetta. "No, I haven't heard that name here," Janetta's brows furrowed in confusion. A thought occurred to her as she said to Aysel, "But let me check the system for the names of the staff here. I'm sure we will find something."

The walls being light colored didn’t surprise me more than the mountains upon mountains of books he has sitting on bookshelves surrounding the room. I walk around the room running my hands over all the different titles and authors. Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, H.G Wells, and so much more. Wuthering Heights, a first edition version sat in a case in between the shelves by a set of double doors to what looks like a balcony. It stuck out to me more than any of the other titles because it surprises me more than anything that he would read a book such as that. I try to picture in my head him sitting in a chair with glasses, all relaxed and snuggled up reading a classical romance novel

Emily Warner The loud knocking and my cat meowing in my face woke me up. What the damn hell? “Emily Anne Warner, if you don’t open this damned door in a minute, I swear to god I will knock it down with a bulldozer. I am not kidding you. You haven’t replied to any texts or calls in a week. At least before that you answered my texts. I am not going to leave you alone now.” I sat up straight in my bed as I could hear Danika yelling.

She clasped her hands behind her back, fixed her eyes somewhere on the ceiling, and let loose her usual torrent of words. "I read a wonderful book called, Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brontë. It was written in 1847, but the characters in the book are so real that you feel as if they're living today. When I read this book, I felt as if I were Jane Eyre, a lonely, friendless orphan girl sent away to a cold, cruel boarding school where all the other girls despise her."