Two colour tattoos: a night castle with a moon and stars on an upper arm and a castle in a glowing sky inside a leafy globe with a Hogwarts banner on a forearm, in a neo-traditional style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Castle night scenes on upper arm and forearm

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

The left photograph shows a colour tattoo on the upper arm and shoulder of a person whose face is not visible, featuring a castle on a hill beside water under a night sky with a glowing moon, stars and a dark bird silhouette. The right photograph shows a forearm with a globe-shaped design containing a castle under an aurora-like green and blue sky, framed by green leaves and red berries, with a banner reading HOGWARTS below. Both pieces use bold outlines, saturated colour and layered shading against plain skin and a light background.

Neo-trad Upper arm Shoulder Forearm Castle Moon Star Night sky Bird Lake Leaves Berry Globe Banner

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the drips off that awning and come in close, where the brazier's still warm. Rain like this has been falling on Ashby Market since before the fishmongers were boys, and it always puts me in mind of the autumn Nell Tallow rowed out across Loch Sallow to Carrick Keep, because the lamps in its towers had gone out.

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Nobody on the shore would row out there after dark. The old keeper had gone up the hill and not come down, and the only thing moving over the water was a rook as black as a burnt match, perched on the bow of her boat and refusing to fly off. Nell took it for a sign, the way you take anything for a sign when you have nothing else to pay the rent with. She rowed past the reeds and the drowned bell, and the moon came up fat and orange, the colour of a coal blown hot.

At the top of the hill the keep stood dark, yet the sky above it was full of light. Green and blue ribbons rippled over the battlements like someone shaking out a bedsheet, and the stars hung so low she could have knocked them off with an oar. The keeper sat on the steps with a jar of fireflies in his lap. 'Lamps don't light themselves,' he said. 'They only need someone brave enough to carry the sky up the stairs.'

She did. Every tower lamp she trimmed that night she carried back down in a glass globe, and when she opened her stall the next morning the rain had stopped and the whole village was looking up. That's the story, and the rook still sits on the bow of that boat at Loch Sallow if you care to row out and check. Mind the step on your way out.