Traditional style tattoo of a dagger through a red rose with black leaves on the chest, flanked by two butterflies on the ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dagger and rose with butterflies on torso

Traditional · Chest · Mixed · Photo

A dagger with a blade pointing downward runs through a red rose surrounded by black leaves, set centrally on the chest below the breasts. Two black butterflies with red and grey detailing sit on either side on the ribs. Bold black outlines and flat solid fills dominate, with red used for the rose petals and butterfly markings.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rose had climbed through the chapel window of Carrick Hollin the summer after the roof came down, and by August it was thick as a man's wrist and red enough to make the rooks quarrel. Nobody in Ellerby would cut it. My uncle Tomas said the Harrowby lords planted it over the grave of the last bell-ringer, and that whoever took a blade to it would be dragged down to the crypt by Michaelmas.

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I took my father's dagger to it anyway. It had lain in the dresser drawer since the funeral, a thin thing with a crossguard like a folded pair of wings, and it sliced through the cane as easily as a loaf. The rose bled no sap, only a few dark petals that fell on my boots. Beneath them, the flagstone had a name cut into it, half swallowed by moss: ISOBEL, and a date from before the Harrowbys ever held a deed.

I knelt and scraped the moss away with my thumbnail until the letters showed clear. Then I understood the rose had not been a warning at all. It had been a marker, and the dagger had been made to pin a sheet of parchment to the chapel door, the way the old lords sealed their debts. My father had kept that knife for forty years and never once said why.

I pushed the blade into the mortar beside the window and left it standing there, point up, with the last bloom hanging over its hilt. In the morning Tomas came up the lane with his cap in his hands and asked whether I had cut the rose. I said I had only cut what needed cutting, and walked home to write my name in the parish book.

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