Black solid design of a crescent moon with small five-pointed stars trailing downwards from its lower edge, on a white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Crescent moon with falling stars

Black and grey · Flash

A solid black crescent moon sits at the top of the design, with a cluster of small five-pointed stars scattered over its inner curve. A loose trail of smaller stars falls downwards beneath it, shrinking and spacing out towards the bottom. The image is a single flat black silhouette on white with no shading, so it reads as a stencil-style design rather than a photograph of skin.

Moon Crescent Star

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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

Sit closer, the lamp is going and my voice goes with it, so you will have to lean in the way the whole chapel did at Maud Pritchard's wedding, when the vicar gave up and let her talk.

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The moon in those days was a fussy old thing. She would only come out over a sky she trusted, and the Pritchard girls had been promised to the Vaughan boys since before anyone could tell which Vaughan was which. On the Friday night before the wedding, the moon slipped her collar and hung herself off the church roof like washing. Half a crescent, no more, and the stars came out of her in handfuls, the way sparks come off a smith's hammer.

They fell past the bell rope and down over the lychgate. Every one that landed on the path, young Evan Vaughan picked up and put in his coat pocket, because he was a practical sort who did not believe in omens, only in the price of good buttons. By morning his pockets were heavy and the moon had gone back to her proper shape. Maud came up the aisle with her hem wet from the grass and a little cold light still on her wrist. When the vicar asked his question, Evan did not answer. He was counting something under his breath, and he did not stop until he reached the last one.

What he counted, I will tell you when you are older. For now take this: those stars went into the tea caddies and under the stairs and into the bread bin, and they were still there when they buried him forty years later. Every Friday after that, Maud set the kettle on and stood out on the step, because the moon is a loyal creature when she is asked properly.