她 She

作者：Jared Rosen

每当佛耶戈回想她的面庞，样貌都不尽相同。

Each time Viego thought of her face, it looked a little different.

有时她的眼距太大，有时又太小。或是腮颊太窄，要么太宽。有时，她的手上不见了裁缝女工常见的老茧；有时，她的双手又被剪刀握柄和顶针磨得粗糙变形。她有时身披着礼服，有时只是简朴的工装罩衣，还有的时候，一丝不挂。她变化无常，又始终如初；她从来都不曾实在，却一直就在咫尺。佛耶戈已不再拥有的心脏，残存着一叶幽魂，因回想过去而再次撕裂……

Sometimes, the eyes were just too far apart, or too close together. Or her cheeks were a little too thin or a little too wide. Sometimes, her hands lacked the calluses of a seamstress, but other times, they were gnarled and thick from long days holding scissors and needles. She wore a gown some days, and others, a simple work frock, and on others still, she wore nothing at all. She was never the same, but always the same, never there, but always present. A ghost of the heart Viego no longer possessed, rent open when... when...

佛耶戈坐在残破焦黑的王座上，坐在世界的最深处。他将手中的王者之刃深深钉进脚下的岩石中，坚硬的黑曜石应声龟裂，剧烈的震动波及了整座暗影岛。

Viego, on his shattered, blackened throne at the bottom of the world, slammed his king’s blade deeply into the rock beneath, cracking the obsidian and sending a brutal tremor across the entirety of the Shadow Isles.

在他的左边，放着一幅他不忍再看的画。伊苏尔德的形貌完美无瑕，令人不忍直视；秀丽动人，让他全然无法平静。他把她从画上撕去，只留下一个昏庸少主的身影。几百年前，他曾相信世界举目皆是美好，但如今早已死得其所。

To his left lay a painting he could no longer bear to look at, for the fair Isolde’s countenance had been too perfect to lay eyes upon, too lovely to grant him any peace or respite. He had torn her away, leaving only the image of a foolish young king who had believed the world was kind centuries before, but who now was rightfully dead.

或许不能算是死，而是面目全非。

Or if not dead, something else.

佛耶戈已经不大记得他从前的国家，那个没有被阴影和痛苦所染指的地方。在他的记忆中，自己来到了砂岩铺就的街道上，眼中看到的只有伊苏尔德。每一面墙上的每幅彩绘，都把她放进了一个画中的世界，只有他能触碰，只有他能看见。然而当他伸出手去，那幻象便即时碎散。随后他就到了这里，四周环绕着恶水，将她再次夺走的茫茫恶水。

Viego could not remember much of his old country that was not twisted by shadows or anguish. In his memories, he stepped out upon the sandstone streets and only saw Isolde before him. Every fresco on every wall contained her within a painted world that only he could touch, only he could see. Yet when he went to reach for her, the illusion broke away, and he was here, surrounded on all sides by the putrid waters that had stolen her all over again.

佛耶戈从地面拔出剑，抡起沉重的剑身，哭号着敲打在地面和墙壁上。然后他静止了很长一段时间，端详着那幅故国留下的古画，似乎看到了什么新的东西。他看着自己，看到他在这片岛屿被黑暗吞噬以前的样子。

Viego ripped his blade from the ground and stood, smashing its great heft into the floor and walls as he wailed. Then he was still for a long while, regarding the ancient painting from the old kingdom as if he had seen something new. Regarding himself as he was before the Isles had been swallowed up by darkness.

“佛耶戈，”他说道，“潇洒倜傥。风华正茂。如今变成了什么模样，佛耶戈？你落得了什么下场？”他手中的画摔落在地，画框迸裂，里面夹着的画布皱成一团。

“Viego,” he said. “So handsome. So young. What became of you, Viego? Where have you gone?” He dropped the painting to the floor, its frame cracking awkwardly as the canvas crumpled beneath it.

“伊苏尔德，你在何处？”佛耶戈说，“为何不回到我身边？”

“Where are you, Isolde?” said Viego. “Why won’t you come back to me?”

可他当然知道是为何。

But he already knew the answer.

对大多数人来说，黑雾是一场灾难，是鬼怪的藏身之所。雾气载着吸食生命的怨灵袭击生者，将人攫走，直到太阳熄灭，世界化为虚无。

To most, the Black Mist is a plague, a vector for monstrous, life-sucking wraiths to assault the living and steal them away until the sun dies and the world crumbles into nothing.

对佛耶戈来说，黑雾却是他沉重且无休止的悲伤，从他残破的心中不停地涌出。它见证了他的爱，见证了早已逝去的动人时光，还无时不在提醒着他在许久之前被剥夺的一切。

To Viego, it is his great, unending sadness, pouring ceaselessly from his broken heart. A testament to his love, of better days long gone by, and a cruel reminder of what was taken from him so long ago.

正是这片浓雾，在大地上席卷弥漫，翻腾的触手冷酷地侵袭着一切，所及之处的一切生命都被抽干，只留下缥缈的尸绿色，那是破败之咒的幽光。不过，它并非漫无目的，随着佛耶戈的悲伤如潮水般涨落，浓雾不停地向前翻涌，似乎是在搜寻着什么、追逐着什么……某种古老、熟悉、安详的东西。雾中的恶灵和鬼魂可以为所欲为，但浓雾本身则不同——它只会永无休止地朝她奔涌。

It is this very Mist that scours the land, tendrils infecting everything with their grim power, draining the life from whatever they touch until all that remains glows with the soft, necrotic green of the Ruination. Yet this, too, has a purpose, for as Viego’s sadness ebbs and wanes, the Mist surges forward, searching as if drawn to something... something old, familiar, safe. The wraiths and spirits that travel within it do what they will, but the Mist itself, no—it grasps ceaselessly for her.

佛耶戈所做的一切都是为了她。

Everything Viego does is for her.

而现在，它找到了什么，在海岛之外的远方，在比尔吉沃特码头和艾欧尼亚海滩之外的更远处。大陆上有一样东西，藏在一座河畔小城中。那物件召唤着佛耶戈，哭喊着佛耶戈，不惜代价地唤起他的注意。虽然人们在哀嚎，虽然他们在逃离这股飘然而至的死亡天幕，虽然怨灵和厉鬼在狂啸着吞食，但佛耶戈的耳畔听见的是一个声音，只有这一个声音。

And now, it has found something, far from the shores of the Isles, far past the docks of Bilgewater and the coasts of Ionia. Something on the mainland, hidden within a modest city at the edge of a river. The object calls to Viego, screams for Viego, demands his attention at all costs. And though the people wail, though they run from the blanket of death that rolls softly across their homes and fields, though the wraiths shriek and the horrors stir to feed, Viego hears but one voice, and one voice alone.

“佛耶戈。”他听不清确切的字句，却想象着那个声音在呼唤自己。

“Viego,” he imagines it says, for he cannot make out the words.

破败之王像一道饥饿的黑影般破雾而出，将剑刃高高提起的同时，把迎面遇到的第一个卫兵一分为二。那人的面孔痛苦地扭曲，身体融化消散，而灵魂则被浓雾吸纳，不过佛耶戈几乎没有片刻停歇，径直挥剑斩下第二个卫兵。在他身边，成群的尸鬼啖肉饮血，撕扯生者的身躯，将他们的灵魂卷入国王的军团。

The Ruined King bursts from the fog like a hungry shadow, tearing through the first guard he sees as he lifts his blade high above the ground. The man’s face contorts in pain as his body melts away and his spirit is absorbed into the Mist, but Viego barely pays him any attention before he brings his sword down upon the second. Everywhere around him, ghouls feast upon the living, tearing them apart as their souls are dragged away to join the king’s legions.

战火焦灼，血肉横飞，箭矢呼啸，刀剑铿锵，伏尸百里。

Searing flesh sails through the air, arrows tumble across space, swords clatter, and warriors fall.

对于佛耶戈，这一切都无所谓。

It does not matter to Viego.

他站在城墙脚下，一手高举，浓雾便向前疾奔而去。砖石遭到腐化，迅速坍塌崩落。佛耶戈走向墙壁，一瞬间，他穿了过去。他一路沉默着，迈向声音的来处。他砍倒两人，然后又是一个卫兵。他们的灵魂在他身后站起来，等待他的号令。

He raises a single hand before the city’s great wall, and the Mist rushes forward, stones falling away as the structure becomes tainted with decay. Viego simply steps across the threshold, and suddenly, he is through. He cuts down two more men as he moves silently toward the source of the voice, then another. They mean nothing. None of them bear any weight, and not one matters at all. Their spirits simply rise behind him, to do as he wills.

这座城的统治者站在了他面前，一个骄傲的人，保护着某件珍宝，佛耶戈可以肯定。但同样作为领袖，作为武艺高强的战士，或许这个人可以成为更强大的用臣，而不是只被饿意操控的鬼魂。

The ruler of this city now stands before him, a proud man protecting a treasure of some kind, Viego is sure. But as a fellow leader, as a skilled warrior, perhaps he would make a better vassal than hungry spirit.

“停。”佛耶戈说着，再度举起一只手。浓雾、恶灵、恐怖之物，以及所有的战斗——一切似乎都在破败之王的命令之下定住了。

“Stop,” says Viego, raising a single hand once more. The Mist, the wraiths, the horrors, the fighting—everything seems to freeze on the Ruined King’s command.

“你身后所藏的珍宝，是你不解其缘的辎重。我来让它物归原主，作为赏赐，你可成为我的钦命重臣。”

“Behind you is a treasure you could not fathom the importance of. I will see it returned to me, and in exchange, you will serve me personally.”

那个人似乎无言以对，困惑和不解让他无法鼓起说话的勇气。不过佛耶戈很有耐心。许久，来人缓缓从嘴里吐出几个字：“如果我把宝物给你，你能放过这座城吗？”

The man seems to stumble over his words, grasping at something he cannot quite muster the courage to speak. But Viego gives him time, and slowly, the words form on his lips: “If I give you this treasure, will you spare the city?”

破败之王似乎失望了。他是在思考如何回答还是在判断形势，那个人永远都无法知晓，因为佛耶戈突然出现在了他头顶，他巨大的剑刃向下劲劈，贯穿了这个渺小、怯懦的国王的心脏。他的身躯沿着巨剑的边刃滑落，黑色的纹路在他皮肤表面散开。

The Ruined King seems disappointed. Whether he ponders an answer or reflects on the situation, this man will never know, as Viego suddenly appears above him, his great blade slicing down through the heart of this small, frightened warrior-king. His body slides harmlessly down the massive greatsword, as blackness spreads across his skin.

佛耶戈掀开他身后的门，然后他看见了，珍宝就摆在那里。

Viego rips the door behind him open, and there, the treasure lies.

一只古旧的音乐盒，那是佛耶戈大婚当日收到的礼物，正在对他轻声诉说着什么。它似乎浸透了哀愁，那没有尽头、不可估量的忧伤，但佛耶戈只是把它端到眼前，想象着当他再次与她重逢的时候，伊苏尔德脸上必定会绽放的笑容。

An old, worn-down music box, a gift from Viego’s wedding day, whispering something he cannot quite hear. It seems possessed by grief, by boundless, immeasurable sorrow, but Viego simply holds it before his eyes, imagining the soft smile that will surely dance across Isolde’s face the day he sees her again.

“他们对你做了什么，我的挚爱？”他呜咽着说，而那个刚刚横尸剑下的人从地上缓缓站起，皮肤上的裂缝里搏动着邪魅的蓝绿色幽光。

“What have they done to you, my love?” he coos, as the man he slaughtered slowly rises from the earth, ghostly greens and blues throbbing from between the cracks in his skin.

“不必焦心，”他对着音乐盒安慰道，“我一定会找到你的。只是时间问题。”

“Do not worry,” he assures the music box. “I will find you. It is simply a matter of time.”

说罢，佛耶戈就消失了，只留下千万怨灵，吞噬了这座城池。

And with that, Viego is gone, vanishing as wraiths devour the city.