Novels By The Brontë Sisters Novels & Stories

"I love getting lost in stories, exploring new worlds and meeting new characters." Claire's smile grew wider. "What's your favorite book?" I thought for a moment, trying to narrow it down. "I have a few," I said finally. "I love 'Pride and Prejudice', 'Jane Eyre', and 'Wuthering Heights'." Claire's eyes lit up. "Those are all classics," she said. "I love them too. Have you read any of the Bronte sisters' other works?"

Here we go. "Well, my boy," he began, perching on the arm of Sebastian's chair, "it was the winter of 1847. Charlotte had just finished 'Jane Eyre,' and Emily was in a right state over 'Wuthering Heights.' Feisty bunch, those sisters." I couldn't help but snort. "Dad, please tell me you didn't seduce the Brontë sisters." He waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing so crass, darling. I simply... inspired them. A bit of devilish charm goes a long way in the creative process."

She just nodded her head in understanding and continued to unpack. The knocking on our bedroom door made us stop what we were doing. I walked over to answer it. I opened it and sure enough it was Jonathan. “Come in.” I closed the door behind him. He came in and took a seat in the chair by the window. “So, how is the unpacking coming along?” “We are almost finished.” Analina answered him. “Betty invited Mariann, Brandon and I to eat lunch with you. It was nice to know that she even had a basinet set up in the twins room for Brandon. I can see now why you hired her, sis.” “Well, she was good with the twins and was also Santos and Andros’ nanny when they were kids, I’m even starting to remember

She’d find a way out and then her slutty sister would get her just desserts. Davina began keeping a journal at the age of ten. Each year she’d start fresh with a new one. Her aunt had made sure to pack the journals from the last three years. She pulled them out of the box and thumbed their smooth leather bindings. The year for each journal was written on the front. She stared at the one for her year that she couldn’t remember. It was one of the first things she’d searched for upon waking up and discovering she’d lost the memory of it. She’d found all of her other journals, so she assumed she hadn’t kept one. Where did it come from? How did her aunt know where to find it? So many quest

As he returned to work, I brought him a glass of water, when he just happened to reach out. We touched each other, but he withdrew his hand first and pretended like nothing happened. "Your sister won't survive." There was no doubt about it—anyone who could be objective would be able to see that there was no hope for my sister. Even with that mysterious spell that kept her alive despite losing almost all of her blood, it was just pointless. Two weeks later, the cops found her dried-up corpse in the middle of the street, every last drop of fluid drained out of her body.

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."