Colour tattoo of a blue butterfly with pale blue flowers, yellow centres and green leaves on the lower back.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Blue butterfly and flowers on lower back

Botanical · Back · Colour · Photo

A blue butterfly with dark outlines rests beside a cluster of pale blue and white flowers with yellow centres, green leaves and curling green stems. The linework is soft and the shading gives the petals and wings a gentle, painterly depth. The design sits on the lower back, with the butterfly on the left and the flowers arranged diagonally towards the right.

Botanical Back Butterfly Flower Leaves Stem Bud

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The jasmine had pushed through the chapel window the winter the east wall came down, and by March it had the broken arch wrapped in pale stars. Nobody else at Carrow Keep wanted the job, so I kept the path clear with a billhook and told myself the flowers were a nuisance. Mr Lyle, who came up from the village twice a week to measure the masonry, said the lady of the house had planted them herself, and that the blue butterflies which came with them were the only living things she had ever been fond of.

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That was the year the painter came. He had a sketchbook with a cracked spine and paints rattling in a biscuit tin, and he asked if he could sit on the mounting block by the well. I said yes, because he was the first person in a month who had not asked me what the old place would fetch. He drew the stems curling up the broken jamb, then the butterfly, which he gave dark edges and a wing so blue it looked wet. "You've made it look ready to leave," I said. He smiled and said that was the whole trick of it.

On the last evening of May he showed me the page he had worked on longest. It was not the castle at all. It was the bed against the chapel wall, the one with no marker, and the flowers in his drawing grew from a low heap of stones I had raked myself the autumn before. "You kept it tidy," he said. "I only put it in colour." I understood then why Mr Lyle had never let anyone else cut the jasmine back.

The blue butterfly settled on the sill above us while we looked. I did not move. Lyle would say I was going soft, and perhaps I was, but I left the sketchbook open on the stones and let the wind turn its pages.