回聲編織者 The Echo Weaver
She wore a tapestry-like cloak, embroidered with the names of those who had sung before her. The fabric shimmered under the stage lights, its patterns shifting like rippling water.
2025.02.12
珍不只是歌手，她是一座承載遺忘聲音的容器。當她站上舞台，過去與現在便在瞬間交疊，她的演出從不是獨奏，而是交錯的回聲，是那些曾經在這裡歌唱的人們，聲音如煙霧般纏繞在空氣中。
她披著一件宛如掛毯的長袍，上面繡滿了曾經歌唱過的名字。燈光灑落，布料閃爍著，紋理宛如水波流動。當她舉起麥克風時，發出的不僅是她自己的歌聲，而是與無數被遺忘的音符交織而成的和聲，一個靈魂合唱團的輕語。
觀眾能感受到——歷史的重量壓在他們身上。有人發誓自己看見了舞台上模糊的影子，那些身形閃爍不定，與珍的輪廓交融，難以分辨。身旁的吉他手撥動熟悉的旋律，然而那些和弦不僅屬於此刻，也承載著被遺落的夢，被時間捨棄的歌。
珍明白，這樣的力量是短暫的。每一次演出，她的身份便消散一分，慢慢地，她與她召喚出的回聲融為一體。她既是指揮者，也是幽魂，編織著曾經存在過的音律，將自己層層疊進時間的旋律之中。
最後一個音符迴盪開來，舞台比剛才更顯空曠。珍靜靜佇立，閉上雙眼，等待回聲再次降臨。但它們已經退去，滿足地沉入無聲的深處。
此刻，珍仍然存在。但她還有多少部分屬於現在，又有多少已經消逝，融進那無盡交錯的回聲之中？
Jane was not just a singer; she was a vessel for voices long forgotten. When she took the stage, the past and present collapsed into a single moment. Her performances were never singular—they were layered echoes of those who had once stood in her place, their voices tangled in the air like smoke.
She wore a tapestry-like cloak, embroidered with the names of those who had sung before her. The fabric shimmered under the stage lights, its patterns shifting like rippling water. As she lifted the microphone, her voice emerged not alone but intertwined with whispers of lost musicians, each note bending into another, a spectral chorus.
The audience could feel it—the weight of history pressing down on them. Some swore they could see shifting figures flickering in the light, their blurred outlines merging with Jane’s form. The guitarist beside her strummed a familiar melody, but the chords belonged to more than just the present moment. They carried a resonance of forgotten dreams, of songs abandoned in time.
Jane knew this power was fleeting. Every performance unraveled her own identity a little more, dissolving her into the echoes she summoned. She was both conductor and ghost, blending herself into the layers of those before her.
As the final note rang out, the stage seemed emptier than before. Jane stood still, eyes closed, waiting for the echoes to return. But they had retreated, satisfied.
For now, Jane remained. But how much of her still belonged to the present, and how much had already faded into the woven echoes of time?
