消逝真相的檔案守護者 The Archivist of Fading Truths
She turned the image over, running her thumb along the brittle paper. A memory surfaced—not her own, but one embedded in the photograph.
2025.02.08
珍坐在昏暗的房間裡，四周的牆上覆滿層層相片，每一張影像都相互交疊，歲月將它們的輪廓侵蝕得模糊不清。她的手指輕輕劃過一張老舊的照片，墨跡幾乎消融於這張被遺忘的畫布之中。她是最後的守護者——消逝真相的檔案守護者，唯一仍能解讀被模糊面孔與殘缺文字封印的低語之人。
今晚，她在處理一張從廢棄圖書館中尋得的影像。圖像殘缺不全，但某種莫名的情感在她內心深處騷動不安。在這消解的形體之下，在模糊的墨跡之外，彷彿有一個故事等待被揭示。她瞇起眼睛，辨識著那淡淡的筆跡——那是她的名字，珍。在名字下方，斷裂的詞彙隱隱浮現又消失：「曾在……」
她感到一陣寒意沿著脊椎蔓延。「曾在」哪裡？「曾在」何時？
她翻轉照片，指腹沿著脆弱的紙張輕撫，一段記憶浮現——並非她自己的，而是這張照片裡殘存的過往。一個男人的聲音，像影像一樣破碎，低語著：
「找到我曾在的地方。」
珍的心跳加快了。
她拿起工具——化學試劑、數位增強器、光譜透鏡——這些都是一名檔案守護者穿梭於現實與遺忘之間的武器。如果她能將這段記憶拼湊完整，她或許能找回一個被遺棄的瞬間，一個曾經有人站立、如今卻早已消失的地方。
隨著她的修復，文字逐漸變化，墨跡在微光中重新排列：
「曾在……記憶的邊緣。」
珍緩緩吐出一口氣。她已不只是檔案守護者了。
她是一名失落之物的追尋者。
Jane sat in the dimly lit chamber, surrounded by walls covered in layered portraits, each image bleeding into the next, their faces eroded by time. Her fingers traced the surface of an old photograph, the ink nearly dissolved into the canvas of forgotten memories. She was the last of her kind—an archivist of fading truths, one who could still decipher the whispers trapped in distorted faces and blurred inscriptions.
Tonight, she worked on a piece retrieved from the ruins of an abandoned library. The image was incomplete, but something about it tugged at her consciousness. Behind the disintegration, beyond the smeared ink, she could see a story waiting to be revealed. Squinting, she discerned faint traces of a name—her own. Jane. Below it, fragmented words shimmered in and out of focus: “Was at…”
She felt a shiver crawl up her spine. Was at where? Was at when?
She turned the image over, running her thumb along the brittle paper. A memory surfaced—not her own, but one embedded in the photograph. A man’s voice, fractured like the image itself, whispered: “Find where I was.”
Jane’s pulse quickened.
She gathered her tools—chemical solutions, digital enhancers, spectral lenses—all instruments of an archivist navigating the twilight between reality and decay. If she could piece together this memory, she might uncover a forgotten moment, a place where someone once stood but had since disappeared.
As she worked, the letters shifted, the ink rearranging itself in the half-light. “Was at… the edge of remembering.”
Jane exhaled. She was no longer just an archivist.
She was a seeker of the lost.
