Small dark dragon silhouette tattoo in black and grey ink on a woman's upper chest, just below the collarbone.

Dragon silhouette on upper chest

Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A small dragon in flight is shown as a solid silhouette with outstretched wings, a long tail and a raised neck. The ink is dark brown to black, with soft, slightly uneven shading across the wings and body. It sits centrally on the upper chest against a plain, softly lit background, with a black vest top at the bottom of the frame.

Chest Dragon Wing Silhouette Collarbone

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Rain had been coming off the canal since dawn, and Nell Abernethy had given up trying to keep the shutter of her stall dry. Her father's stock hung from the awning in wet strings: waxed paper kites, tin whistles, a basket of brass hooks nobody wanted. Across the square the fishmongers were hosing down their slabs, and the gulls had stopped bothering to shout.

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A man in a grey oilskin ducked under the canvas and asked for a dragon. Not a kite, he said, a shape. Something that could fly without wind. Nell laughed, then stopped, because he had a child's drawing folded in his palm, creased soft at the edges. It showed a beast with its neck raised and its wings spread like a torn umbrella. She cut it from black card with her mother's shears, working by the light of a jam jar lantern while the card softened in her fingers. She left each wing a little ragged, the way the drawing had been.

When she held it up against the grey square, the silhouette seemed to lift off the card and hang there. The man pressed coins into her palm, far too many, and said his daughter had asked for something that could cross the water without a boat. Then he was gone into the crowd of umbrellas, and Nell was left with the coins and the shears.

That night she pinned an empty sheet to the wall above the stove. The lamp guttered, and a shadow crossed the plaster, wings beating against the brick, neck stretched toward the window. Rain ran down the glass. In the morning the sheet was bare and the square was full of tyre tracks, but Nell kept the shears on their hook by the door, and every so often, when the light was low, she caught a dark shape rising over the canal.