She had lived many lives - sometimes as a mother, sometimes a daughter, and sometimes nothing more than a fleeting shadow passing through someone's memory.
2024.09.05
這張模糊的肖像中，只有一個女人的輪廓依稀可見，她的五官柔和，幾乎消失在背景中。然而，「珍」這個名字從記憶的迷霧中浮現，呼喚著潛藏在表面之下的某種深層情感。
珍並不總是一個名字。曾經，它是一個輕聲細語，隨著風中的旋律飄蕩，被時間遺忘，但深深烙印在曾經認識她的人心中。她曾經活過許多生命——有時是母親，有時是女兒，有時只不過是某個記憶中稍縱即逝的影子。在她最近的這段生命中，珍成為了遺忘靈魂的守護者，與那些被歲月磨平自我的人們為伴。她的日子在一座位於霧氣瀰漫森林邊緣的破舊老屋裡度過，那裡過去與現在如同這幅肖像般模糊交錯。老屋裡掛滿了像這樣的陳舊肖像，它們的主人早已被遺忘，故事無人傳頌——除了珍。
當她的手指劃過那些褪色的相框時，珍能感受到曾經生活過的閃爍片段。她的使命就是記住這些人，即便沒有人再記得。她擁有一種獨特的天賦，能夠將過去編織進當下。別人只能看到模糊的影像，而珍卻能夠在她眼前看到完整的人生展開。她看到了他們的愛情、失落、夢想與恐懼。她是他們的守護者，守護那些無人講述的故事。
於是，珍的故事也成為了這張迷霧織成的畫布的一部分，這些遺忘的面孔已消失，卻從未真正離去，只等待像她這樣的人來將它們喚醒。
The portrait you’ve shown reveals only a hazy outline of a woman, her features softened, almost fading into the background. But the name "Jane" emerges from the fog of memory, calling to something deeper beneath the surface.
Jane wasn’t always a name. Once, it was a whisper, a melody carried on the wind, forgotten by time but etched into the hearts of those who had known her. She had lived many lives—sometimes as a mother, sometimes a daughter, and sometimes nothing more than a fleeting shadow passing through someone’s memory.
In her latest life, Jane was a caretaker of forgotten souls, living among those who had lost themselves to the years. She spent her days walking the halls of a dilapidated old house on the edge of a misty forest, where the past and present blurred as much as her own features in this portrait. The house was filled with aged portraits like this one, their subjects all forgotten, their stories untold—except for the ones Jane found within them.
As she ran her fingers over the faded frames, Jane could feel the flicker of lives once lived, and it was her role to remember them, even if no one else did. Her gift was an ability to weave the past into the present. Where others saw only blurred images, Jane saw entire lives unfold before her eyes. She saw their loves, their losses, their dreams, and their fears. She was their keeper, the guardian of stories no one else would tell.
And so, Jane’s story, too, became part of the misty tapestry of forgotten faces, lost but not truly gone, waiting for someone—like her—to remember.
