— I WILL BE MYSELF

     His words are taken in quietly, and Jane gives a small exhalation.  "Yes, sir; I suppose you are right.” This place was getting to her, and she could feel it.  “I hope that I shall also be able to adjust... and soon.” A small blink, as if she’s clearing her head.      “And I must apologize for my bothering— with idle hands, my mind has been wandering; too often, it seems to fall to thoughts like this.”

     She doesn’t quite meet his eyes, choosing to acknowledge the quiet words with a small dip of the head before deciding what to say. Witchcraft, let alone just magic, was something she had been raised thinking it TABOO, if not sin. It amazed her still, when she went outside and was regularly witness to those who controlled the elements and could conjure objects of free will. “It is altogether a concept I am unfamiliar with, and am hesitant to accept. But I am starting to; I can find no other explanation. The question is, what is to do now?— What is to happen?”

     She gives a small nod, the look on her face still that of pensive MELANCHOLY.      “Perhaps,” Jane says quietly after a while, and that expression seems to soften somewhat, as if its wearer was tired— “I am being too paranoid; but the more I seek traces of familiarity in this new world, the farther it seems to slip from my grasp. I am worried of what is to come. It feels as if Magnolia is holding its breath, like the calm before a furious tempest.”

     His words are sharp, and Jane hesitates. Scornfully as the opposing idea has been phrased, there is the acrid taste of truth beneath. "I should like to think, sir, that they regard us in the light of children— surely we are many, and constantly falter in goodness, but not playthings to be twisted and tossed about as if we were nothing. They may have created us, but it is not their job to hold our hand and guide us through our lives. Perhaps it is even out of their power. But this is a matter I can only guess on; I would not claim to know the truth, sir.” And neither would you. The words aren’t uttered aloud, but her eyes seem to do the speaking for her.       Lucky? His next words definitely strike a nerve, though Jane’s frustration is conveyed as quietly and coolly as she is able. “Not at all, sir. I was a mere infant when my parents died, and when my aunt cast me off. I was made the nursery scapegoat for ten years by my cousins until being sent away to a charity institution for eight, ran by a clergyman who constantly maltreated us ‘in the name of God’, and threatened us with tales of young sinners' sudden deaths. I am NOT ‘ lucky ’, sir— but I do not have so much self-pity that I curse God. Your pain must be great indeed, sir.”

     “What is to become of us? Is this some terrific FLUKE of time and place? Or is this Purgatory, wearing the mask of a pleasant village and waiting for the right moment in which it shall cast it to the floor, and punish us for our sins?”

     “There is no depth about it, sir. Is it not natural for one to question new terrain, especially if it is an unfamiliar place inhabited by unfamiliar, even supernatural beings? I see many who have grown very fond, and have found a new home in this—– ‘Magnolia’. But for better or for worse, I am reluctant to— unable to.”

     “—–I am inclined to disagree with you, sir. Perhaps we have been placed here as something to be watched, but I doubt the heavens mean to treat us as gladiators in an arena. Surely they have far more productive or honorable things to do, and even if you were to be right, we are our OWN creatures. They may corral us together, but we will dance for them only on our own accord.”

     "I cannot understand. Men, women, and children of differing times, differing places— some have even lived among the stars. For weeks, I believed that I was DREAMING. I doubted the fantastic visions which arose before my eyes, which sought vainly for familiar sights and found none.” She blinks, casts her gaze somewhere far away on the horizon.      “It feels too bizarre a phenomenon to be without a drawback or a particular meaning. There must be a reason we have all been drawn here.”

     “I— didn’t say anything.” Jane looks up from her stack of letters to give the other a look of puzzlement and concern. “Are you alright, miss?”

     “Did you speak a different language, where you come from?”

     His furrowing his eyebrows isn’t a movement that goes unnoticed; vaguely she wonders if she— or the news— has displeased him in some way, or whether that was simply a display of contemplation. But no action is made on the other’s part that would confirm the former notion, and the young woman offers him a thin pressing-together of the lips that could be taken as a smile ( she isn’t a smiling person, really ).       “Jane Eyre, sir.” Her job is done here, and the girl turns to leave.

     She shakes her head, confused. “I don’t know.” Pause. “...Perhaps it is slang?”