Fine line black and grey tattoo of a beaded chain anklet with a hanging interlocking CC charm on a woman's ankle.

Beaded chain anklet with CC charm

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a thin chain of beads wrapping around the ankle, with a single strand running down the front of the foot to a hanging interlocking CC monogram charm. The linework is fine and the beads are shaded with small grey dots, giving a jewellery-like effect. The photograph shows the foot in a silver pointed heel on a grey carpet, with a denim jeans cuff visible above the ankle.

Fine line Ankle Anklet Chain Bead Monogram Charm

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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

Hush now, the snow has come over the lych gate again, so sit close and mind the coals. Where was I? Ah, Edith Marl at Harrow Cross, the chain-maker's girl who could string a hundred seed-beads on a single hair of horsetail without one slipping off the end. Her father had gone to the churchyard years before, and she kept his bench and his lamp and his habit of humming through the work.

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The pass closed that winter, and a stranger came to the inn with a bundle in oilcloth. Inside was a broken length of grey silver chain and a charm of two letter C's turned back to back, one locking into the other so you could not tell where either began. He wanted it remade small enough for a narrow ankle, for a woman who had gone south to find work in the cities. Edith measured with a knotted thread and worked by candle for nine nights, and the beads she shaded with a dot of soot each, so they looked like dew on a web.

On the tenth night she found she had made them too fine to see by lamplight. She could have started again. Instead she sewed the chain's end into the hem of her own shawl and walked it down the valley herself, through drifts to the knee, because the stranger had never come back for it.

The woman was waiting at the station in the morning with a case at her feet. Edith held out the chain. The woman looked at the little locked letters a long while, then laughed and said she had never owned anything so careful. She fastened it on, pulled her stocking up over it, and walked off down the platform without a word, the charm swinging. Edith went home with snow in her boots and the shape of that chain still in her fingers. Now, who wants the last of the cider?