Dotwork and line tattoo of a girl in a patterned dress holding an umbrella with coloured raindrops, across the upper arm and shoulder.

Girl with umbrella and raindrops on upper arm

Dotwork · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A stylised girl in a long patterned dress holds up an umbrella at the top of the arm, with orange, teal and yellow raindrops falling from it. The figure is drawn in bold black outlines with grey shading, and the dress and background are filled with fine dots and geometric patterns. The colour is limited to the raindrops and a few small accents, so the design reads mainly as black and grey.

Dotwork Upper arm Shoulder Girl Umbrella Raindrop Dress Star Geometric pattern

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Rain had been falling through the great hall of Harrowell Keep for three weeks, ever since the north wall gave way and took the roof with it. Ottilie Brand had stopped minding the drip on the flagstones, but not the way the water came down in threads, each one catching the light from the arrow slit like a loose bead. She held the umbrella her father had carried to the battle at Coldharbour, its ribs bent, its black silk patched with a square of dark green.

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The steward wanted the hall swept and the murals recorded before the surveyors arrived from Carlisle, so Ottilie had been sent to copy them. Each morning she climbed the stair to the gallery, where a strip of painted sky still survived above the stone, and she traced the stars in it with a stick of chalk. Her grandmother's dress hung loose on her frame, long and patterned with herringbone and small dotted fields, cut for a funeral that never came.

On the twentieth day the rain stopped, and the sun came through the gap in the roof in a single shaft. Ottilie stood in it and lowered the umbrella. The drops caught in its folds ran off the scalloped edge in orange, teal and yellow, rolled across the flagstones and vanished into the drain, and she followed them, laughing, until the surveyor's boy asked what she was doing.

She told him nothing. She shut the umbrella and tucked it under her arm. When she looked up, the cloud had slid over the gap and the hall had gone grey again, but high on a broken rafter one last drop hung, bright as a coal, waiting for someone to notice it.