I used to run from Wuthering Heights at the break of dawn, walking barefoot to the moors and remaining there all day with Heathcliff as my sole companion. We were both growing up as rude as savages, doomed by this thwarted love that made us inseparable. But that was when I was still alive. Many things have happened, unhappiness took over our existence. I was selfish and peevish, plaguing everyone who would not indulge my caprices, he was dark and tormented and became a vindictive man long past my absence. I was his ghost and kept on coming to haunt him in the dark of night…
Emily Brontë published this tragic novel in 1847 under the pseudonym of Ellis Bell. She died the following year, unaware of how her storm-heated book would make its way into daylight.
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