AN: I understand that a lot of this does not line up correctly with the events of miss Bronte's novel. I have pushed forward the time that Lockwood moved into the Grange, and adjusted the timeline to other events to suit the story. I apologize if this offends anyone. The novel is almost sacred to me, so know that I what I do, I do with care. Thank you!

Oh, what a shamble this is! I actually became quite ill from the carriage ride. When I attempted to stand up, I refused my uncle's hand in aid and lost my balance. He and the housekeeper made such a fuss over me, but when I attempted to protest, I had found the contents of my breakfast on the green and soggy earth. I do believe I must have fainted after that, for I do not remember arriving in this room.

After my bath, Ellen, the housekeeper attempted to set my mind at ease. As she scrubbed and dressed me, her conversation tactics were warm but polite. Every time I tried to wash or dress myself, she would simply smile and continue her work. She seems used my kind of stubbornness, and there is something about her, as though I should not deny her.

"You poor creature." She sighed as she tugged the edges of a white nightgown around my wrists, and then my ankles, so there was hardly a wrinkle in the fabric. "We imagined you would be tired, child, but not so ill!" She pressed the back of her palm to my forehead and cheeks.

"I am fine, Mrs. Dean. Really."

"Aye, that is what you told the Master and me before losing your feet, my lady." She took my hand and guided me to the garish four-poster bed, all ivory and mahogany. "And you must get some rest, of course. Call me Nelly."

"Who's room is this, Nelly?" I slid beneath the covers after she pulled them back.

At the corners of her lips, the smile seemed to fade, but return again as she placed a tray of foul and potatoes on my lap. She then set to brushing my hair. "Why, it is your room, my lady."

"I am not very hungry." But her pause in brushing my hair made me cooperative again and as I picked up the fork, she continued. "Thank you. But I meant to ask who's room was it before me? I can tell it was once lived in. All these trinkets I suppose. It feels very much lived in. Whom did my Uncle purchase this estate from?" I then pushed some food into my mouth and chewed, sensing her impatience again. The food was bland and filling, much as I'd imagined it, but had learned long ago to never discuss food that had been cooked for you by another's hand.

"My, you have the loveliest dark hair. It looked almost red in the sunlight."

I remained calm, continuing to eat, too tired to press the matter further.

Then she surprised me. "It belonged to one of the Lintons." She set down the silver hair brush and took a seat on the stool next to the ivory vanity next to my bed. "She was a part of that family that no longer resides here at Thrushcross Grange."

Merely nodding in thanks for her answer, I found my eyes drifting shut, and when I opened them, the food was cleaned, Ellen gone, the lantern put out and nothing but the fireplace and moonlight making the room visible to me. A storm had arrived and was tearing across the moors. I found myself crawling out of the bed to look out on it.

There was a biting chill despite the fire, and I stood in front of the window, gazing out across the landscape. As I slid the drapery to the side, I thought I saw a figure moving in the distance, and perhaps lights even further away. I felt tempted suddenly to open the windows, despite the painful cold sinking into my feet, and wander outside to follow those lights, as if the faerie queen and king would have a feast ready for me there and I'd be taken into the Underground forever - but I turned my eyes away and told myself my imagination was getting out of hand.

I drew the curtains before scribbling the rest of these words into this journal.

My father bought me many empty books by the time I could start writing, but this is the very last. The rest are full of such adventures that I will surely publish them some day - but I cannot imagine this will be a very thrilling finale. I miss him.

Dreams have always been so easy for me to recall. Some people don't even have them. Sometimes I feel as though my dreams are indeed, 'having' me. I cherish them and wander at their meanings. I especially cling to the absurd fantasy that tends to theme them. I have always had that strange gift of recalling the strange and extraordinary whispers in the night.

This morning I could not remember a single thought or image in my mind that could have occurred between the time I laid down last night and am now awakening. Every time I think I find a place or a word, or perhaps even a face, they dissolve before I can make sense of them.

Nelly is back, thoughtfully trying to organize my wardrobe. I did not laugh when she asked how I could dress myself in "A single orange stack of silk, my lady? And with so many baubles and such..."

She 'tsk'ed and sympathetically folded my sari from India back into its case, deciding to place it with the scarves and hats at the top of my new closet. "Your fall clothes will not get you through this season in these parts, my dear, and the Master has most sternly impressed it upon us all to not let his niece fall ill." Though her face was in a bureau facing away from me, I could almost hear her lips purse disapprovingly at the sort of frocks I tended to wear. "Could you not have left some of your books behind and brought some longcoats or scarves?"

I couldn't help a small giggle as I started to walk towards her to choose my own dress for the chilly day.

"Fortunately..." She glowed. "I do believe this old wardrobe is just your size. A few minor adjustments this morning and you'll have something proper to wear" She sighed with relief as I attempted to conceal a wince.