Black and grey full arm sleeve with chrysanthemums, flower of life geometry and dotwork, with red script on the forearm, shown on both arms.

Full sleeve with chrysanthemums and sacred geometry

Botanical · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

Two arms are shown side by side, covered in a full sleeve of chrysanthemum blooms, a flower of life pattern, hexagonal ornaments and dotwork circles. Red script runs down the forearms, and a stormy cloud and wave design with a faint figure fills the outer arm. The shading is soft and grey-toned, with the red ink as the main accent.

Botanical Geometric Dotwork Upper arm Forearm Chrysanthemum Flower of life Hexagon Mandala Dotwork Script Cloud Wave Figure

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had sealed the Hollin Pass road by four o'clock, and by six the only light in the valley came from the Fell Bell's kitchen window. I kept the ledger, which meant I was the one who noticed that room four had been paid for in advance by a man who never arrived. His key still hung on its nail behind the desk, a brass fob shaped like a chrysanthemum, its petals worn soft by thumbs.

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On the third night the storm turned the sky the colour of wet slate, and the wind came up the stairwell like a tide. Mrs Tarrant, who had cooked at the Bell for forty years, sat by the range copying something in red pencil off the back of a flour sack. 'He'll come when the wave goes over the moon,' she said, not looking up. 'Not before. Mind the hexagons on the cellar door, they keep the draught out.' I thought she was mad until I went down and found the door painted with six-sided rings, each one edged in small dots, like a map of ripples on a pond.

Just before dawn the knocking started, slow and deliberate. I opened the door to a white wall of snow and a figure in a coat furred with frost, face turned from the lamp. It held out the brass key. I took it, and it was warm from the inside of a pocket, and the stranger said only, 'Thank you for keeping the room aired.'

When the thaw came, room four was empty, the bed made tight with hospital corners, and on the windowsill lay a single red petal pressed flat between the pages of my ledger. Beneath the entry for the missing guest, in Mrs Tarrant's careful hand, someone had written the day the pass would open. I still keep that ledger, and I still leave the cellar door unlocked for anyone who knocks with a warm key.