Dearest Diary,

Words cannot express the tumultuous emotions racing through my being. I have been robbed of the man I love. I suppose 'robbed' is not the correct word for it, seeing as he was really never mine to begin with. Was everything we shared a lie? With every touch, every kiss, and every sweet nothing he whispered in my ear I felt the connection between us grow stronger. Why, oh, why, Dearest Diary, did I not sense his duplicity? My ramblings do not make much sense to you, I suppose. Let me start at the beginning.

When I first came to Thornfield, I heard many odd noises coming from the abandoned wing of the house. Wails and odd laughter and such. I was told that a maid by the name of Grace Poole had taken to sewing in a room nearby, and that she had strange fits at times. I accepted this explanation without question, and got along merrily. Further incidents of dubious origin followed, such as a fire which nearly killed Mr. Rochester, an injury of dubious origin to a doctor of unknown intents and origins, and further wails and cries from the 'forbidden fortress' as I privately dubbed the abandoned wing. I was convinced that Grace Poole was behind it all.

Meanwhile, I was embroiled in my own personal drama. I had stupidly fallen in love with Edward Rochester, the master of the house. Everyone expected him to propose to, in my opinion, the most vile, disagreeable, vicious, conniving, simpering little person on the face of the planet. Her name was Blanche Ingram. She was everything English society said a well-brought-up young lady in her very agreeable circumstances should be. I detested her. I was not jealous of her money, or her society. No, no, I, Jane Eyre, a mere governess, loathed the fact that she was going to be with my, yes, MY Edward for the rest of her life. Miracle of miracles, Edward proposed to me, not her. That, Dearest Diary, is what brought me to today, to this time and place, to me sitting in this very uncomfortable coach, in this very uncomfortable traveling dress, writing very uncomfortable truths in you, the only place I have ever managed to be truly honest with myself.

Quite honestly, I loathe faerie tales. They gave me unrealistic expectations about men. Today was my wedding day. Today, all of my dreams were supposed to come true. I'd defeated the evil stepsister, and taken my place at the side of Prince Charming. No one knew that place had been taken long ago, by the shell of a girl hidden away in the 'forbidden fortress'. What's a Cinderella to do when her Prince Charming is already taken? Where's my happy ending?