Black line drawing of a cartoon Alice in a jar with a Drink Me tag, in a sketch-style outline on the outer thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Alice in a jar on a thigh

Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

The design shows a cartoon-style girl with long hair, arms folded over the rim of a large glass jar, with a tag reading Drink Me hanging from the jar on the left. The linework is dark, loose and sketch-like, with visible overlapping strokes and no shading or fill. The tattoo is in black ink only and fills most of the frame, which shows a bare thigh against a carpeted floor with a pair of scissors at the right edge.

Thigh Alice Jar Cartoon character Sketch

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wind came through the arrow slits of Carrow Keep like it had an appointment, and I sat on the cold sill with my sketchbook on my knee, trying to draw the dead hall before the light went. My pencil kept doubling back. Every line I put down I went over two or three times, because the stone wouldn't hold still for me and neither would my hand.

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Down in the undercroft, where the steward's ledger said the kitchens had been, I found the jar. It stood taller than me, the glass gone the colour of weak tea, and inside it there was nothing but grey dust and a paper tag tied at the neck. DRINK ME, it said, in a copperplate hand faded to brown. I laughed, because it seemed a bit much for a castle, and I pressed my palm to the glass. It was warm.

That was the first thing I wrote in the margin of my sketch: warm. The second was the girl. I had drawn the great hall from memory, and somehow there was a figure in the corner of the page, arms folded on a rim she could not possibly reach, hair spilling down the side of the glass. I hadn't drawn her. My strokes were loose and overlapping, the way they go when I'm nervous, and she was made of exactly those strokes.

I went back down the next morning with a flask of cold tea and a torch. The jar was empty now, the dust swept clean from its base, and the tag hung loose on the glass. I turned it over. On the back, in pencil, in my own handwriting, someone had written: Wait for me, I'm nearly out. I put the tag in my pocket, climbed the stairs into the daylight, and did not look at the sketch again until the sun had gone down behind the walls.