Gold metallic temporary tattoos of leaves and scrolls on a woman's upper chest and wrist, in a botanical filigree style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Gold metallic leaf and filigree temporary tattoos

Botanical · Chest · Colour · Photo

A woman in a white off-shoulder top wears gold metallic temporary tattoos. A pair of leafy scroll motifs sits on her upper chest, and a filigree bracelet design wraps from her wrist onto the back of her hand. The gold ink has a flat metallic sheen against warm brown skin, set against dark green foliage in the background.

Botanical Chest Hand Leaves Scroll Filigree Ornament Gold Bracelet

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain has been drumming on the tin awnings of Lantern Row since before light, and you have stopped minding it. Your aunt's stall sits at the far end, under a sagging canvas that smells of wet cardboard and frying onions, and on the trestle in front of you lies a sheet of gold leaf no thicker than breath. Each time a gust gets under the canvas it lifts the edge, and you have to pin it down with a fingertip before it folds in on itself.

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Your aunt taught you filigree the winter you turned fourteen. You twist wire between pliers until it curls like a fern unrolling, then solder the tendrils to a backing so fine that a sneeze would ruin an hour. She said the trick was never to hurry the curl. 'Leaves want to be looked at slowly,' she said, tapping the bench with her ring. You have made a hundred pairs of leafy scrolls since, and none has come out exactly the same, which she says is the point.

This morning a customer comes in out of the wet and asks whether the gold will stay put through a whole summer wedding. You tell her it will last a week in the rain and will not go green the way brass does. She sets a hand on the bench so you can press the bracelet piece down over the skin, and for a moment the rain seems to stop, the way a market does when it takes a breath between the lunch rush and the afternoon.

When she leaves, she takes the scrolls and the wrist cuff with her, and you tuck the spare scrap of gold back into the tobacco tin under the counter. Your aunt will ask how many sold. You will tell her all of them, and she will only smile and look out at the street, where the rain runs gold in the gutters wherever the lamps reach it. You decide it was always going to look like that.