(no subject)

[miss-eyre.livejournal.com]

Jane Eyre slips in unobtrusively; Mr. Rochester would say it is due to her fairy feet. She would say it was from growing up in her aunt's house, tiptoeing to avoid her horrid cousins. Either way, she is now sitting quietly near the fire, enjoying a repast of tea and scones. Cranberry scones, even. She must be in an adventuresome mood.
She hums a quiet tun to herself as she surveys the room.