The muted hiss of a match broke through the quiet roar of the fire burning on the floor above, illuminating the dark room that was once mine and that was once hers. No, I corrected myself, not her – it. Hatred stole through me as I remembered that night. The night I had discovered that my husband was planning on marrying a poor excuse of a girl, an orphan. But ripping the veil wasn't enough, attacking Mr Rochester hadn't helped; I was still locked up here like an animal, treated as if I were crazy. I had to do more; I had to make the world see what the 'kind' Mr Rochester had done. I had to make the world see the evil behind my husband's mask. I had to make the world see.
I closed my eyes and suppressed a manic giggle. My plan was coming together perfectly, I was going to get my revenge and it was going to be easy. I looked around the room one last time before throwing the match onto the bed.
I watched from the shadows as people gathered around the outskirts of Thornfield, their sombre faces lit up by the burning glow of the fire as they anxiously waited for Mr Rochester to emerge from the flaming doors. The building wasn't going to be stable for much longer, I could hear the flames roaring beneath me, thirsty for more to devour with their fiery kiss.
This wasn't part of the plan, I was sure of it. I felt like an actor who'd forgotten her lines on stage, or a dancer who'd forgotten the next steps in the choreography. I felt lost.
I knew I wasn't supposed to be here. I don't think I was supposed to be here.
Self-doubt crept upon me throwing my thoughts up in the air and mixing them with other, darker, scarier thoughts until I couldn't tell them apart. A small voice whispered that I should turn and flee, before I got so confused I did something I would regret. But a bigger, stronger voice cut through it, whispering that I should be reckless and do the impossible.
I tried to block out both voices and concentrate on my instincts but my sole companion during my imprisonment seemed to have abandoned me to the darkness of my mind. I was scared. I always had been, but no one had been there for me to confide in. No one had been there for me. No one.
I heard the attic door swing open and slam into the roof, as if from far away and turned in time to see an orange glow and a familiar silhouette. Mr Rochester. The sight of him made my eyes harden and my doubts wash away. I hated him and the world had to see that. Upon seeing me, he started towards me but I danced away from him as if he were contagious.
"Get away from me." I hissed wanting him to see how angry I was, before he could interrupt. "Get away or I'll jump."
He tried to speak but I cut him off. "Don't pretend that you care!" I screamed, "I hate you!"
If I didn't know any better I'd say a shadow of sadness passed over his face. But I knew it was just an act and that if I listened to him I would end up locked away in another room. I felt tears prick my eyes as I realised what I would have to do to escape, but forced them back. I knew what I was going to do. I was going to make the world see. I was going to jump.