白衣女士 White Ladies-Jane

In the center, there is a young woman named Jane, with a determined yet curious expression, standing at the edge of a mysterious, fog-enshrouded forest at night.

2024.02.22

在Eldridge鎮的薄霧中，關於“白衣女士”的低語縈繞在每個壓低的對話中。她們是空靈的身影，身披月光的長袍，在森林邊緣徘徊，那裡的霧氣緊緊地抱著像是秘密。

珍一直是個懷疑論者，她的雙腳堅實地站在生活的領域，她信仰著有形的世界。但在鎮上二百週年紀念的夜晚，情況發生了變化。空氣中傳來一種古老的節奏，森林向她呼喚。

她漫步越過家族農場的界限，被一種似乎穿梭在古老樹木之間的旋律所吸引。在那裡，在月光如液銀般傾瀉的空地上，她看見了她們。

白衣女士並不是故事中的厄運使者。她們在跳舞，她們的形態模糊如夢境邊緣，她們的面容朦朧卻美麗。珍著迷地觀看，她們以優雅的姿態移動，白色的衣物飄揚如鬼魅海洋上的帆船。

其中一位走近了，她的眼睛在夜晚中柔和地發光。她向珍伸出手，那一刻，珍明白了。這些是Eldridge歷史的守護者，是長久以來故事和記憶的保持者。

白衣女士低語著：“記住”，並把一件涼爽的物品壓在珍的手掌中。那是一個舊而變色的小盒子，但它擁有著千年的溫暖。

當黎明來臨時，女士們如同觸及陽光的霧氣一般消散了，珍發現自己獨自一人。但那小盒子的重量在她手中是一種安慰的存在，它是未解之謎的承諾，是真相誕生神話的證明。

從那天起，珍攜帶著Eldridge過去的故事，不再將白衣女士的傳說作為一個神話，而是作為看不見的紐帶將我們所有人連接起來的慶典。

In the misty town of Eldridge, whispers of the "white ladies" threaded through every hushed conversation. They were ethereal figures, clad in moonlight robes, haunting the forest's edge where the fog clung like a secret.

Jane had always been a skeptic, her feet planted firmly in the realm of the living, her belief in the tangible. But on the night of the town's bicentennial, something shifted. The air thrummed with an ancient rhythm, and the woods called to her.

She wandered past the boundary of her family's farm, drawn by a melody that seemed to weave through the trunks of the ancient trees. It was there, in the clearing where the moon poured its light like liquid silver, that she saw them.

The white ladies were not the harbingers of doom the tales had made them out to be. They danced, their forms blurred like the edges of a dream, their faces indistinct yet beautiful. Jane watched, entranced, as they moved with grace, their white garments billowing like the sails of ships on a ghostly sea.

One of them approached, her eyes a soft glow in the night. She reached out a hand to Jane, and in that moment, Jane understood. These were the guardians of Eldridge's history, keepers of stories and memories long lost to the passage of time.

The white lady whispered, "Remember," and pressed something cool into Jane's palm. It was a locket, old and tarnished, but it held the warmth of a thousand years.

As dawn approached, the ladies faded like mist at the touch of the sun, and Jane found herself alone. But the locket's weight was a comforting presence in her hand, a promise of mysteries yet to unravel, a testament to the myths that are born from truth.

From that day on, Jane carried the stories of Eldridge's past, sharing the legend of the white ladies not as a myth, but as a celebration of the unseen threads that connect us all.

My Name is Jane.