2025.11.12
Every night, Jane walked through the corridors of obscure memories, tracing soft intersections of light that floated in the air like threads of thought. His task was quiet but immense: to maintain the grid of dreams, so no piece of love, grief or longing would be missing.
It echoed—not words, but a senseless frequency of feeling. Some came as a shiver of forgotten names, others as a ripple in the still waters of the mind. Each time he captured one, Jane gently awakened him in a shimmering web suspended between time and breath. The grid slid in rhythm with her heartbeat, each square holding a secret that promised to protect her.
But Jane knew the danger of remembering too much. The grid reflected his face, and slowly, the pattern built itself into his skin. It wasn’t pain, but a fusion – between the keeper and what he held. Those who saw it in their dreams woke up in tears, not knowing why, because they only felt that someone had noticed their sorrow.
When Dawn approached, Jane sat under the dim light, her hands shaking from the weight of the unspoken stories. He whispered to the grid: “Forget me, but remember them.” And as the sun broke through the veil, lines flashed across his face—the last echo of a guardian who dreamed for others.