Black and white photo of two bat tattoos on a chest, with a spiked choker, layered chains and an inverted cross pendant.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bat tattoos on chest beside inverted cross necklace

Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A close, dimly lit black and white photograph cropped to the lower face and upper chest of a person wearing a spiked choker, layered chains, a medallion and an inverted cross pendant. Two black bat wing shapes sit on the chest, one on each side. The shading is soft and mostly dark, with the tattoos blending into the shadowed background.

Chest Bat Cross Chain Medallion Lip

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain had been coming sideways down Brindle Market since four, and by seven the tarpaulins over the stalls sagged like wet sails. Mae Pollard kept her hands flat on the counter so the customer would not see them shake. Between them lay a tarnished pendant on a square of black velvet: an inverted cross, its arms worn smooth by somebody's thumb.

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'Melt it down,' the woman said. 'Whatever it's worth, I don't want to know.' Mae turned the cross over under the lamp. On the reverse, half hidden by verdigris, was a stamp she had seen only once before, on a crate of brandy her father had hidden beneath the bread oven: two wings, scalloped and spread, the mark of a Gravesend foundry that closed before the war. The metal felt warmer than the shop had any right to be.

Mae wrapped the cross in a handkerchief and did not take it to the crucible. Instead she fetched the ledger from under the till and wrote the date, the weight, and the words *not for melting*, then sketched a small wing beside them. The woman paid in coppers, pulled her collar up, and walked out into the drizzle without once looking back at the velvet.

When the stallholders came in at dawn they found the shutter up, the till open and the lamp still burning. The velvet lay empty except for two dark feathers, which Mae would swear afterwards had not been there when she turned the lamp down.