Pencil drawing of a cheerful baby dragon hatching from a cracked egg, with its wings forming a heart shape and a small butterfly nearby.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Baby dragon hatching with heart-shaped wings

Black and grey · Flash

A pencil drawing of a baby dragon with a wide open mouth, sitting among fragments of a cracked eggshell. Its two large wings rise and meet above its head to form a heart shape, and a small butterfly flutters to the right. The work uses soft grey shading and fine hatched lines on the wings and body, with a plain white background and no colour.

Dragon Hatching Wing Heart Butterfly

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift is broken again, so you take the stairs with the parcel under your arm, a shoebox that knocks against your ribs at every landing. Someone on the ninth floor has been feeding the bins with things that should not be warm, and this box came up the chute at Kestrel House with a crack in its lid. You hear it before you see it: a small, wet tick, like a clock learning to count.

Keep reading

Inside, on a folded tea towel, the egg has split from top to bottom. The hatchling sits among the pieces with its mouth open wide enough to scold you, and its wings are still damp and folded tight like wet paper. You set it on the sill of the fourteenth floor window, where the grey of the estate runs out to the motorway, and you open the sash an inch. Nothing happens for a long minute. Then the wings unfurl, the orange of the car park lamps shines through them, and the two tips find each other above its head and make a heart against the glass.

Downstairs the buzzer goes. Mrs Okonedo from flat 9C is on the step with a face full of questions and a tub of lentil soup she has been meaning to give you since March. She stops in the doorway. A butterfly the colour of a struck match has come in through the gap and is circling the lamp, and the dragon watches it with the particular outrage of a creature who has only just arrived and already been outdone. Mrs Okonedo looks at the sill, then at you, and says nothing at all, which you will remember later as her finest moment.

By October the block had a rumour that it was a stray heron, and then a rumour that it was not. Nobody on the fourteenth floor complained about the scorch marks on the lino, and the lift, when it finally worked, always smelled faintly of toast.