Small purple fine line crescent moon and sun tattoo on a wrist, resting on a cream knitted jumper.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Crescent moon and sun on a wrist

Fine line · Other · Colour · Photo

A small tattoo of a purple crescent moon beside a tiny sun with rays sits on the wrist. The thin, single-tone linework is solid and crisp, with no visible shading. The cream knitted jumper and blue denim in the background make up most of the composition.

Fine line Other Moon Sun Crescent Celestial

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Right, you at the back, put your glasses down and listen, because I am only telling this once and the bread is going cold. The sun and the moon were married, as you all know, though nobody tells the bit about the washing up. They had a house on the edge of the marsh at Thornholme, with one window facing east and one facing west, and they agreed that whoever was tired would be first to bed.

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The trouble was the moon. She was a shy sort, forever slipping out before the lamps were lit, and she had got into the habit of thinning herself down until she was nothing but a paring of silver on the windowsill. The villagers said the clouds had nibbled her. The sun hated that. Every evening he polished his brass rays until they hurt to look at and set them out on the step like a bowl of lemons, hoping she would take a few. She never did. She said a bowl of lemons was no use to a woman trying to be small enough to fit through a door.

One November the marsh froze hard, and the sun came home late with frost in his hair. He found the moon sitting at the window with her back to the room, a curl of light so faint the dog couldn't see it. He knelt down, took a pinch of his own gold, and laid it along her edge, a little sun set beside her as close as a ring on a finger. She turned slowly, and for the first time in years she was full of his light on one side. 'There,' he said. 'Now you can't be lost in the dark without me knowing exactly where you are.'

So raise your glasses to the pair of them, who have never once stood in the same sky together, and who have never needed to. She still goes thin some nights, and he still lays out his brass on the step in case she wants a few. Cheers. And somebody fetch me a slice of that cake before the lot of you eat it.