2025.10.29
was known as Jain Keeper of the Signs of Light. She lived in a small studio surrounded by shelves of glass plates and folded transparencies. Each layer whispered someone’s past—the echo of a smile, the blink before tears, the glint of morning light now brushing against a cheek. His task was not to restore, but to remember. The city would come to him when he forgot, when his reflection was too quick for love.
Every evening, Jean would dip a fine brush into the molten amber and trace the faint outline of lost signals. Some called it nostalgia, but he called it translation. Under the lamp’s gentle glow, time folds inward, and memory fades.
Once, he embedded his own face between two layers – one belonging to an alien, the other to his younger self. He did not remove it. Instead, he whispered, “So I continue like this,” and watched as his features slowly faded into an amber haze. In that moment, Jane understood that preservation was not about keeping the past alive, but allowing it to breathe gently, steadily, like light through glass.
My name is Jane.