Fine line black and grey dragonfly tattoo on the inner wrist, with braided bracelets worn above it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dragonfly tattoo on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small dragonfly is tattooed on the inner wrist, shown from the side with its body and wings outlined in thin dark ink. The wings are lightly shaded in grey, giving them a translucent look. Red, green and yellow braided bracelets and a black cord bracelet sit above the tattoo against a soft, blurred light background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mireille had spent eleven months coaxing the hive-drones back to the vertical gardens of Tern Spire, and the last one to wake was always the grey one with the stiff left wing. It hung above the lettuce troughs on the fortieth floor, humming at a pitch she could feel in her back teeth, while the wind outside rattled the ventilation louvres like a crowd that had lost its patience.

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She reached up with the soldering wand and the thing did not flinch. Its wings were nearly glass, clouded where someone long ago had washed them with grey to hide the seams, and when the lamp caught them she could see the old frame beneath, thin as a hair. Her grandmother had called them the old-style dragonflies, built before anyone thought to make a pollinator that didn't need feeding. They were slow and stubborn, and they remembered routes.

The fault was a cracked sensor socket behind the head. She had a spare in her apron pocket, and she worked the new one in while the drone trembled under her fingers. When the status light came up amber, she stepped back and waited, because waiting was most of the craft.

Then it lifted, circled the trough once, and drifted to the window seal, where it stopped and pressed its head against the cold glass as if it had spotted something beyond the smog. Mireille followed its gaze eleven storeys down to the flooded car park, where a single green shoot had pushed up through the cracked tarmac. She had walked past that patch every morning for a year and never once looked down. The dragonfly turned, looked back at her, and she understood it was asking her to come and see.

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