Every evening, Jane would sit by her old wooden desk, fingers resting on an ancient recording device that seemed older than time itself.
2025.08.01
珍一直被稱為「回聲的守護者」。在一座隱於被遺忘山丘間的靜謐小村，她能聽見別人聽不見的聲音——記憶的低鳴、未曾說出口的呢喃。人們來找她，不是為了答案，而是為了從回聲中聽見自己的過去，並獲得撫慰。
每個黃昏，珍都會坐在舊木桌旁，手指輕觸那台彷彿比時間更古老的錄音裝置。隨著開關一響，房間便充滿了聲音——祖先的低語、遺忘的搖籃曲、未完成的道別。她從不畏懼這些聲音，反而歡迎它們的重量，將每一道回聲織成安慰的紋理。有一晚，一個小男孩帶著一張褪色的照片而來。他的母親過世了，他只想再聽一次母親的聲音。珍點了點頭，眼中映著深沉的理解。她調整裝置，隨後，一陣柔和的嗡鳴化為母親溫柔的笑聲。男孩哭了，但那是縫合心口的淚水。
珍知道，她的天賦不是讓過去重現，而是幫助生者帶著記憶繼續前行。她明白，回聲從來不只是聲音——它們是連結心靈的橋樑。當夜深人靜、男孩離去後，珍微笑了。又一段記憶，找到了歸屬。
Jane had always been called “The Keeper of Echoes.” In a quiet village nestled between forgotten hills, she was the one who listened to what others could not hear—the soft hum of memories, the faint resonance of unspoken words. People came to her not for answers, but for the sound of their own past, returned to them in tones of compassion.
Every evening, Jane would sit by her old wooden desk, fingers resting on an ancient recording device that seemed older than time itself. With a flick of a switch, the room would fill with voices—whispers of ancestors, lost lullabies, unfinished goodbyes. She never feared them; she welcomed their weight, weaving each echo into a tapestry of comfort.
One night, a young boy arrived, clutching a faded photograph. His mother had passed, and all he wanted was to hear her voice again. Jane nodded, her eyes deep pools of quiet understanding. She adjusted the machine, and soon a soft hum filled the room, resolving into the tender melody of a mother’s laugh. The boy wept, but they were tears that mended.
Jane knew her gift was not to bring the past back, but to help the living carry it forward. She understood that echoes were never just sounds—they were bridges between hearts. And in the quiet after the boy left, Jane smiled. Another memory had found its place.
