an ethereal lady named Jane
2024.01.02
在一個被軟軟的沼地霧氣環繞的古老村莊中，流傳著一位名叫珍的空靈女士的傳說。人們對她的議論總是帶著敬畏與恐懼，低聲細語，她是一個傳說中的幽靈般的身影，據說會在荒野上徘徊，她的存在就像迷霧一樣模糊不清。
珍曾是一位織工，精通紡織。她的掛毯無人能及，不僅是編織布料，更將故事和夢想編織進她的作品中。人們說她有一個非常宏大的織機，高到可以觸及村莊教堂的天花板，她的掛毯生動到彷彿在月光下能活過來。在一個漸盈的月夜，珍編織了她的終極傑作。這不是用羊毛或絲綢製成，而是用月光束和星星的精華編成的細緻絲線。她將自己的靈魂注入這件作品，當整個村莊沉睡時，她的手指在織機上跳躍，如同狂熱的異世界節奏。
當黎明來臨，村民們醒來發現掛毯已完成，散發著不屬於這個世界的光芒。但珍已經不知去向。有人說她與她的創作融為一體，成為村莊夢想的永恆見證，守護者。
這件掛毯懸掛在教堂中，如此迷人，任何凝視它的眼睛都會感受到古老與魔法的激動。夜幕降臨，當迷霧密佈時，村民們可以看到一個女人的輪廓，她的形態與她最後創作的線索交織在一起，守護著他們。
他們稱她為「霧中的珍」，那位將夜晚的布料編織成永恆美麗的掛毯的女織工。因此，珍的故事成為代代相傳的故事，她的名字永遠編織在村莊傳說的經緯之中。
In a quaint village veiled by the soft mist of the moorlands, there was a legend of an ethereal lady named Jane. She was whispered about in the hushed tones of awe and fear, a spectral figure said to wander the heath, her presence as indistinct as the foggy air itself.
Jane was once a weaver, a master of threads and looms. Her tapestries were unrivaled, weaving not just fabric, but stories and dreams into her cloth. They said she had a loom so grand that it stood as tall as the ceiling of the village chapel, and her tapestries so vivid they seemed to come alive in the moonlight.
One fateful night, under a waxing moon, Jane wove her final masterpiece. It was not of wool or silk, but of the gossamer threads of moonbeams and the essence of the stars. She poured her soul into the work, and as the village slept, her fingers danced across the loom in a frenetic, otherworldly cadence.
As dawn broke, the villagers awoke to find the tapestry completed, shimmering with a light that was not of this world. But Jane was nowhere to be found. Some say she became one with her creation, an eternal testament to her craft, a guardian of the village's dreams.
The tapestry hung in the chapel, a piece so enchanting that no eye could gaze upon it without feeling a stirring of something ancient and magical. And at night, when the mist rolled in thick, the villagers could see the outline of a woman, her form interlaced with the threads of her final creation, watching over them.
They called her "Jane of the Mist," the weaver who stitched the fabric of the night into a tapestry of everlasting beauty. And thus, the story of Jane became a tale passed down through generations, her name forever woven into the fabric of village lore.
