Colour tattoo of a pink-frosted cupcake with a turquoise bow on the upper back of a person with long hair.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cupcake with a blue bow on upper back

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A small cupcake sits on the upper back, with a swirled pink frosting topped by a turquoise bow with blue shading. The cupcake's wrapper is orange-gold and the shading gives the piece a soft, rounded, three-dimensional look against the skin. The composition is centred on the shoulder blade area, with a chain necklace and a pale top visible around the edges.

Back Cupcake Frosting Bow

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The frosting had slumped by the time Prior Edmund carried the tray into the refectory, which was my fault for piping it too early and leaving it beside the cold window. Four dozen cakes had gone out to the parish fête on Saturday and sold out by eleven. The bishop, visiting on the Tuesday, had asked for one of those pink things by name, and Edmund sent me to the kitchen with flour on my habit and a single instruction: do not make a mess of it.

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I made a mess of it. The orange-gold cases were the last of the Christmas order, pleated like the folds of a good cassock, so I set them in rows and piped the frosting in the swirl I had seen in a magazine Sister Agnes kept hidden under the hymnal. It rose tall and pink as a summer sky over the hills. The bow was the trouble. The only ribbon in the house was a length of turquoise silk left from the novices' banner for Saint Hilda, and I had cut it with the sewing scissors that were not supposed to leave the sacristy. I tied it crooked, then straight, then crooked again, until the knot sat on the peak of the frosting like a bird that had landed there by accident.

The bishop ate his in three bites and wiped his thumb on a napkin with great care. He looked at the empty paper for a long time. Then he asked who had made it, and Edmund pointed at me across the table, and I braced for a reprimand about vanity or sugar or the cost of silk.

Instead the bishop said the bow was the only honest thing on the plate. That evening Edmund found me in the cloister and held out the blue ribbon, folded into a neat square, with a smear of pink on one corner. He said I had better keep it for next year, since the banner would need replacing anyway.