Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Galaxy unicorn on a forearm
Forearm · Colour · Photo
A unicorn in mid-stride is shown in profile, with its body, mane and horn filled with a pink, violet and blue galaxy pattern and small pale star shapes. The solid silhouette has soft, blended shading rather than outlines, and it sits centrally against pale skin with a cream patterned background and a dark sleeve at the bottom of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
No, sit down, the 4.10 is going nowhere until the signalman has had his tea, and I have not finished. Where was I? Ah, the grey mare at Ashby Junction. Everyone on the platform that winter swore she came down the line at dusk, mid-stride over the points, with her shoes striking sparks and her mane full of night sky, so you could see the stars moving in it like fish in a pond.
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Mrs Halloran's boy, Tom, was fourteen and daft about horses, and he was the only one who believed her. He walked the cutting every evening with a lamp and a bag of oats. On the third night she stepped out of the fog, pink and violet and blue as a bruise going off, the little white stars burning along her flanks, and she lowered her horn to his hand as politely as a vicar taking a wafer.
The stationmaster said the animal had no business on a railway and that she frightened the mail. So Tom did the only sensible thing a boy can do with a magic horse. He led her down the branch line, past the sleeping signal boxes, and let her go at the edge of the marsh where the rails ran out. She went up into the sky the way she had come down, one hoof after another, and the last thing anyone saw was a few stars caught in the reeds.
Tom never caught the train again. He said he had seen everything he needed to, and I suppose he was right. Now mind the gap, the 4.10 is in.
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