She was woken early in the morning by shuffled footsteps outside, the creak of the bathroom door. The shutters were closed but she knew that outside the sky was still mainly dark, a tinge of light beginning to form over the hills. Lying in the warmth of her bed she realised one of her socks had come off as she slept. It didn’t matter now with the bed so warm.
  Her bedroom door opened and a rush of irritation filled her.
  “I’m awake,” she said.
  “Do you want your light on?”
  “No.”
  The figure, one hand still resting on the door handle, retreated, pulling the door with it.
  As happened most mornings, the door swung open as soon as it was released and was stopped by the shelves with a quiet bump, muffled by the coat hanging there.
  She rolled over onto her side, face to the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest hoping that somehow this movement would make getting up seem a more desirable prospect.
  It didn’t.
  She pushed the sockless foot out from under the duvet to see how cold it was. She pulled it back into the warmth quickly. The echoing tap of footsteps going down the staircase sounded loud in the cold morning.
  Deciding that was her cue for action, she slipped quickly out from under the covers, pulling her pyjama top over her head as fast as she could. The cold air was cruel, making her shudder as she pulled on her work clothes.
  Leaving the shutters closed she went to the bathroom, arms folded across her body as if that would somehow stop her body heat escaping. She brushed her teeth and splashed icy water on her face. The remnants of sleep disappeared down the drain with the water.
  Crossing the landing back to her room she switched on the light and found a hairpin on her desk. She pushed it into her hair at the side of her face and picked up the mug from last night.

Jane Eyre

  I wrote this piece after watching the new Jane Eyre film. It's a fantastic film, by the way. Anyway, it inspired me and I wrote this. It's supposed to be the scene just after Jane discovers the fire in Mr Rochester's room and they put it out. Mr Rochester tells Jane to wait in his room and leaves.

 

  She waited in that room, the air thick with cold smoke that caught in her throat as she breathed. His heavy coat round her shoulders, she sat on a chair near the ampty hearth. The coat smelled of him.

  For more than an hour she sat there, back straight, shivering, in case he should return at any moment. Eventually, though, fatigue overtook her and she pulled the coat up to her chin, leaning back a little in the chair. She told herself she would hear him coming and compose herself quickly.

  As time passed, she fell asleep, thoughts of propriety lost to dreams.

  Mr Rochester entered his room. She was asleep in his chair, her head to one side, her serene expression very different from the guarded one that usually commanded her features. As though sensing his presence she stirred and in that moment between sleep and wake a flicker of warmth seemed to pass through her eyes when she saw him. Then she sat up quickly, composing herself.

  "You will speak of this to noone, Jane. D'you understand?" He said.

  She nodded and stood up.

  "Goodnight Sir," She made to leave the room. He caught her arm as she tried to pass him and held it by the wrist.

  "You would leave me, after what has passed here tonight?," he sounded sad. "Jane, you saved my life."

  The heat from his hand on her arm seemed to spread through her body like fire. His face was so close to hers, she could feel his breath on her cheeks.

  "I...Sir, I did what anyone would."

  "Jane, death by fire is a terrible way to leave this world."

  "I am glad then, Sir, that it was avoided," her heart was beating so fast she was sure he must hear it.

  His face was so close to hers, his eyes piercing hers....

  Suddenly she remembered where she was, who she was.

 "Goodnight Sir," her voice was barely a whisper.
  She fled.