迷霧行者 the Mistwalker-Jane

Jane was a whispered legend. People spoke of a woman shrouded in mystery, one who walked through mists as though she were part of them.

2024.03.16

在迷霧重重的威斯特伯里小鎮，鵝卵石街道上常蒙上一層厚霧，珍就是那裡低語的傳說。人們講述著一位神秘女子的故事，她似乎與迷霧融為一體，被人稱為迷霧行者。

珍曾經像任何人一樣生動可見，是位熱愛古籍和被遺忘學問的圖書館員。但隨著她對學問的深入探索，她開始發生了奇特的變化。每發現一個神秘秘密，每學到一個奇異真理，她就從平凡世界中逐漸隱去。好似隱秘知識的重量正將她從現世抹去。

如今，孩童們相信，如果他們眯起眼睛，就能看見她的身影從圖書館窗戶前掠過。學者們遠道而來，希望能與這位據說掌握無數謎題鑰匙的神秘女性會晤。

在一個霧氣瀰漫的傍晚，一名名為伊萊亞斯的年輕學者走進圖書館。他尋找一本珍稀書籍的旅途，帶他穿過迴旋的書架，直到他來到一個發著幽光的區域。在那裡，從迷霧中凝聚而出的，正是珍。

她的聲音如同寂靜房間中的低語，向尋求知識的學者傳授智慧，她的話語像蜘蛛網上纖細的絲線般在空氣中編織。然而，當晨曦驅散了霧氣，珍也隨之消散，留給伊萊亞斯無價的知識寶藏和一個令人心魂搖曳的確定感——有些故事，像珍的故事，生活在現實與難以解釋之間微妙的半明半暗之中。

於是，威斯特伯里的珍，迷霧行者的故事延續著——一個編織進小鎮本質，如同清晨霧氣一樣不可或缺、又如此飄渺的故事。

The blurred image hints at the essence of Jane—a specter of a person, whose features elude the clarity of form, yet whose presence is undeniable. Her glasses, the most discernible detail through the haze, suggest a scholarly demeanor, a woman of intellect and contemplation.

In the town of Wistbury, where the fog lies heavy over cobblestone streets, Jane was a whispered legend. People spoke of a woman shrouded in mystery, one who walked through mists as though she were part of them. She was known as the Mistwalker.

Jane had once been as vibrant and visible as anyone, a librarian with a penchant for ancient texts and forgotten lore. But as she delved deeper into her studies, a peculiar change took hold. With each arcane secret uncovered, with each eldritch truth learned, she began to fade from the common eye. It was as if the weight of hidden knowledge was erasing her from the mundane world.

Now, children played in the belief that if they squinted just right, they could see her silhouette passing by the library windows. Academics came from far and wide, hoping for a consultation with the enigmatic figure who was said to hold the keys to innumerable enigmas.

One fog-laden evening, a young scholar named Elias ventured into the library. His quest for a rare book led him through winding aisles until he stood before a section that hummed with an ethereal glow. And there, materializing from the very mist he had always believed to be a child's fancy, stood Jane.

With a voice like whispers in a silent room, she imparted wisdom that the scholar sought, her words threading through the air like the delicate strands of a spider's web. Yet as the fog receded with the breaking dawn, so too did Jane, leaving Elias with the treasure of untold knowledge and the haunting certainty that some stories, like Jane's, are lived in the soft penumbra between reality and the inexplicable.

And so the tale of Jane, the Mistwalker of Wistbury, continued—a story woven into the very fabric of the town, as intangible and as essential as the morning mist itself.

My Name is Jane.