They came in fragments, layered over each other like translucent veils.
2025.09.11
珍一向以耐心傾聽聞名，但在她成為迴聲的詮釋者之後，她才發現，沉默中比言語承載更多聲音。她的日子在被遺忘的庭院裡，在石灰剝落如老皮的廢墟大廳中，在風攜帶低語的縫隙間流轉。當她閉上眼睛，她聽到的並非語詞，而是印記——悲傷、笑聲、渴望的模糊輪廓。它們以碎片的方式湧現，彼此重疊，如半透明的薄紗。一個聲音訴說破碎的承諾，另一個聲音帶來孩子短暫的喜悅，還有聲音則隱藏著數十年來緊咬下顎的秘密。珍不加評斷，她只是接納，細緻如同捧著脆弱的飛蛾。
她的任務不是複述這些聲音，而是將它們編織成他人可感的迴響。她塑造的故事徘徊於記憶與夢境之間，揭示過去並未消失，而是輕輕壓在當下。聆聽的人說，她的言語聽來像是他們自身未曾說出的念頭，那些無意識中長久背負的重量。
有時迴聲會淹沒她，層層交疊的聲音幾乎將她吞噬。但珍學會了靜止的藝術，在靜止中，她化為能容納矛盾的器皿：悲傷與喜悅、憤怒與溫柔。透過她，那些無聲者得到短暫被聽見的機會。
黃昏時，當陰影彼此模糊，珍明白，她的角色不是將聲音解析為清晰，而是提醒眾人：每個沉默都擁擠，每張靜默的臉都層疊著未見的歷史。而在傾聽中，人或許終能認出自己。
Jane had always been known as a patient listener, but in her new role as the Interpreter of Echoes, she discovered that silence held more voices than speech. Her days were spent in forgotten courtyards, in abandoned halls where plaster cracked like old skin, and in the in-between spaces where wind carried whispers no one else could hear.
When she closed her eyes, she did not hear words exactly, but impressions—faint outlines of grief, laughter, longing. They came in fragments, layered over each other like translucent veils. One voice might speak of a promise broken, another of a child’s fleeting joy, and another of secrets carried for decades in clenched jaws. Jane did not judge them. She received them, carefully, as though catching fragile moths.
Her task was not to repeat these voices but to weave them into a resonance that others could feel. She shaped them into stories that hovered between memory and dream, stories that revealed how the past was never quite gone but pressed gently against the present. People who listened said her words sounded like their own unspoken thoughts, things they had carried without knowing.
Sometimes the echoes overwhelmed her, threatening to drown her in their overlapping tones. But Jane had learned the art of stillness, and in stillness she became a vessel wide enough to hold contradictions: sorrow and joy, anger and tenderness. Through her, the voiceless gained a fleeting chance to be heard.
At dusk, when shadows blurred into each other, Jane knew her role was not to resolve these voices into clarity. It was to remind the living that every silence is crowded, every quiet face layered with unseen histories. And in listening, one might finally recognize oneself.
