Colour tattoo of a cartoon sea witch with purple skin and yellow hair on the abdomen, shown in two photographs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cartoon sea witch on the abdomen

Other · Colour · Photo

Two photographs show the same colour tattoo of a cartoon sea witch character on the abdomen, one closer and one wider. The character has purple skin, yellow hair and a blue and teal background, with bold black outlines and soft shading. The colours are saturated and the tattoo fills most of the frame in both shots.

Other Cartoon character

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Everyone in Porthmellow knew better than to haggle with Mother Scald, but young Tobias Penhale had never once in his life known better. He crept down the slimed steps beneath the old lifeboat slip with a jar of cockles in one hand and a grievance in the other, because his cousin had beaten him in the regatta by a whole cable length, and a cable length, he said, was a crime.

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The witch sat among her bottles of storm and drowned church bells, her yellow hair piled like wet kelp, her purple fingers drumming on a hull no bigger than a thimble. "A faster boat," she said before he'd finished. "Simple. Your voice, for one year." Tobias agreed, because a year sounded like nothing to a boy who talked from breakfast until he was sent to bed. She flicked her wrist, and his voice slid out of him like a mackerel off a hook.

He won the regatta by three lengths and could not cheer. He could not tell his mother the cat had been sick in her good shoes, or tell his cousin what he thought of him. He learned instead to nod, and nodding, he discovered, makes people tell you everything. By Michaelmas he knew which fisherman lied about his catch and whose son had been sleeping in the lighthouse.

By spring the whispers had started running along the harbour wall, and they all ended up at the cellar door, because Mother Scald could not abide a secret she had not been told. On the last day of the year Tobias climbed down with a slate and wrote, Take back my voice. I'll keep the boat. She read it, sniffed, and chalked underneath: Then you'd best start talking. He did, and she sat very still, listening to every word, for the first time in her long career unable to say a thing.