Black and grey fine line tattoo of a guitar wrapped in leafy vines on the inner wrist and forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Guitar and vine wrist tattoo

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a guitar body with a curled neck sits on the inner wrist, surrounded by thin, swirling vines and leaves. The linework is fine and even, with light shading in the leaves and around the instrument's body. The photograph is black and white, with two hands holding the wrist and the background falling into shadow.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Guitar Vine Leaves Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The vine had reached the second shelf by the time Mirela threw the last cedar offcuts into the stove, and still the old woman would not let her cut it back. "Leave it," Dorotea said from her stool by the window, her knife moving slowly over a curl of pale wood. "It knows the way to the workshop better than either of us."

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The vine had come up from a cutting pushed into the soil over Dorotea's husband's grave, the summer after he died. Nobody in Kessel Vale had expected it to take, but it grew through the yard wall, along the gutter, and in through the gap under the workshop door. Now it wound around the unfinished body of a lute that hung from the rafters, and its leaves had begun to press against the strings.

Mirela wanted to sell the lute to the steward's musicians in the city, who paid in silver and did not ask questions about where the wood had come from. Dorotea only shook her head. On the last evening before the cart left, Mirela carved the neck herself, letting the wood curl at the top like the tip of a young fern, and when she finished, the vine had crept down and laid one leaf against the sound hole as though it were listening.

The lute went to the city. Three weeks later a letter came back with no name on it, saying only that the instrument would not stay in tune and that the musicians had given up trying. Mirela read it twice, then walked out to the yard. The vine was dark green and heavy, and it had reached the gate, where the wind lifted its tendrils one by one, as if plucking at something only it could hear.