Black silhouette tattoo of flying fairy and child figures trailing stars down the upper arm, shown in two angled photographs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Flying silhouettes and stars on an upper arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a trail of solid black silhouettes of a flying fairy and several flying children, with a small fairy at the top, following a line of stars and dots down the outer upper arm. The figures are filled in with solid black ink, with no shading or fine linework visible. The photographs show the arm in two angled views on a plain background, with the subject's face not visible.

Upper arm Fairy Flying figure Silhouette Star Dot Trail

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The dough had already proved twice when Hester Lund saw the first shadow cross the window, dark as ink on the grey glass. She kept her hands in the flour and did not look up. Her grandmother had taught her that the shadows over Thrimby before dawn belonged to the flying people, and that a baker who stopped kneading to stare would find her bread flat by morning.

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But the shadows came lower than they ever had. There was a small one at the front, sharp at the edges, with its arm out like a pointing finger. Behind it came a girl in a long coat, then a boy with his hands behind his head, then two smaller ones tumbling after. Each left a trail of dots behind it, pale as sugar shaken from a height, and where the trail crossed the roofs the chimney smoke bent aside to let it through.

Hester wiped her palms on her apron and took the currant buns from the tray. She pressed a star into each one with the wooden end of a spoon, and set them out along the sill where the cold came in. The last small shadow hung back. It folded itself on the step like a sheet of paper and waited, and when she opened the door it was lying flat on the stone, thin as a leaf.

She took it inside and hung it on a nail beside the oven, where the warmth would keep it soft. By the time the loaves came out the sky had gone to milk, and the stars were gone, and the buns were gone too. The sill was dusted with flour in the shape of small running feet, going up the hill towards the wood.