Black and white photo of a hand with a small fine line crescent moon and star on one finger, a tiny hamsa hand on another, and an eye tattoo on the back of the hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Crescent moon, star and hamsa on fingers

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of the back of a hand with fingers spread, showing a small crescent moon with a tiny star on one finger and a small hamsa hand design on the adjacent finger. A larger eye tattoo is partly visible near the wrist at the top right of the frame. The linework is fine and mostly solid, with light shading, against a dark leather background.

Fine line Hand Crescent moon Star Hamsa Eye Finger

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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

Nobody on the fourteenth floor of Harrowgate House trusted the lift, so we trusted each other's charms instead. By the time the council sent a man to fix the buzzer, Mrs Dunmore had hung a horseshoe on the doors, Kyle from 9 had taped a rabbit's foot to the call button, and my nan had pinned a blue glass eye to the inside of the bin chute, which she said would see off anything that tried to come up it.

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I kept my own things small. A crescent moon I'd cut from tin foil and stuck above the meter cupboard, a star beside it that kept falling off, and the little brass hand Nan had given me the winter she moved into the care home, the fingers spread to keep the bad stuff out. I told myself it was superstition, the way you tell yourself a cold is nothing until you can't get out of bed. The building groaned all night, like a ship that had forgotten where it was going.

The night the power went, I climbed fourteen flights with a torch in my teeth and found Mrs Dunmore sitting on the landing with her back to the wall, counting her beads. She didn't look up. She just said the moon would be out soon, and it was, a thin white sliver through the stairwell window, lighting the dust on the rail. I sat down next to her and we waited for the lights to come back on.

When they did, the lift opened straight away, empty and humming, as though it had been waiting politely for us to finish. Nobody said a word about the charms after that. But I left the foil moon where it was, and each time I pressed the button I checked the little brass hand was still there, fingers spread, holding everything back.