未竟之貌的守護者 The Keeper of Unfinished Faces
Jane reached out, fingers hovering over the space where a nose might have been, where a cheekbone struggled to emerge.
2025.02.05
珍遊走於世界之間，是身份的編織者，是那些幾乎被遺忘之人的守護者。在未完成的記憶檔案館裡，她穿梭於未竟之貌的長廊，那些肖像閃爍著、溶解著，從未真正成形，也從未真正消逝。她的職責不是修復，而是理解——傾聽那些尚未完成的面容低語。
最新的一張肖像柔和而模糊，彷彿時間遲疑著是否要為它勾勒輪廓。雙眼若隱若現，嘴唇像是正醞釀一個未說出口的話語，肌膚與空氣交融，邊界曖昧不清。珍伸出手指，輕輕懸停在鼻樑應該存在的地方，在一抹努力浮現的顴骨上方。
「你是誰？」她低語，心知對方尚無法回應，至少現在還不能。
在她的世界裡，面孔不會遺失，只是等待。有些被時間奪走，有些被記憶遺忘，還有些是困在畫家未曾完成的筆觸之間。珍的任務不是填補空白，而是賦予它們存在的空間。她不作畫，也不雕刻——她的技藝更為微妙。她向它們訴說故事，讓名字與往昔的迴音滲入未定的輪廓之中。
模糊的肖像微微顫動，彷彿有一個名字浮現，卻又消散。珍閉上雙眼，在心底搜尋，在那看不見的過去層疊中探尋。一聲輕笑，一刻遲疑，一張曾經清晰但後來溶解於遺忘之中的臉。
「你並未迷失，」珍輕聲說道，「只是尚未顯現。」
然後，她退後一步，靜待這張面容，在它自己的時間裡，緩緩浮現。
Jane drifted between worlds, a weaver of identities, a guardian of the almost-forgotten. In the archive of incomplete memories, she walked the hallways of the in-between, where portraits shimmered and dissolved, never quite forming, never quite vanishing. Her role was not to restore but to understand—to listen to the whispers of unfinished faces.
The latest arrival was soft, indistinct, as if time had hesitated to define it. Eyes barely visible, mouth forming the hint of a thought, skin blurring into the air itself. Jane reached out, fingers hovering over the space where a nose might have been, where a cheekbone struggled to emerge.
"Who are you?" she murmured, knowing there would be no answer, not yet.
In her world, faces were not lost, only waiting. Some were stolen by time, some abandoned by memory, others caught between the brushstrokes of an artist who never finished their work. Jane’s task was to give them presence, if not completion. She did not paint, nor did she sculpt—her craft was subtler. She whispered stories to them, let the echoes of names and histories breathe into their forms.
The blurred portrait before her wavered. A name surfaced, then faded. Jane closed her eyes, searching within herself, within the unseen layers of the past. A fragment of laughter. A moment of hesitation. A face that had once been clear but had dissolved into the fabric of forgetting.
"Not lost," Jane assured the portrait. "Only waiting."
And with that, she stepped back, leaving space for the face to emerge, as it always would, in its own time.
