Colour tattoo on the chest of a person showing a pink rose with petals inside an ornate silver frame, with grey dotwork mandala wings and a purple heart gem below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Jewelled rose frame with dotwork mandala on chest

Dotwork · Chest · Mixed · Photo

A pink rose with green stem and falling petals sits inside an oval ornate frame with scrollwork and a teal gem at the top. Grey dotwork mandala shapes fan out on either side, and a dotted chain line runs beneath to a faceted purple heart gem. The rose is shaded softly in pink and green, while the frame and mandala are in black and grey, set centrally across the chest.

Dotwork Neo-trad Chest Rose Petal Frame Mandala Jewel Chain Gem Scrollwork

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rope had frayed in the night, so Tobias Quill spent the first hour of the morning splicing it by lamplight while the field steamed around the wagons. Three wagons were left of the Quill and Harrow Travelling Wonder. The lion had gone to a sanctuary in March, and the band had gone with the spring takings. What remained was a tent with holes in its roof, a grey mare called Sorrow, and a gilt frame that had hung above the ring since before anyone could remember.

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Inside the frame was a tin panel with a rose painted on it by Nell Harrow, the ringmaster's mother, who had said the flower would stay as long as the show kept its promises. Each night a single petal fell onto the sawdust, and each morning Nell swept it into her apron pocket. She had been dead six winters, and still the petals came. Tobias did not know what to make of it, so he did what a showman does with a thing he cannot explain. He sold the parts he could sell. The teal stone went first, to a pawnbroker in Spalding, for enough oats to get the mare through February. The rest of the jewels followed, one by one, until only the scrollwork and the purple heart at the foot of the chain were left.

On the last night of the season, a girl of about nine walked in from the village with her grandfather and stood under the frame with her head tipped back. She did not ask for a ticket. She asked whether the rose was real. Tobias told her it was painted, and she said that did not seem to matter much if it kept dropping petals. He lifted the panel from its hooks, the petals spilling out of its corners, and put it in her arms.

She walked home across the stubble with the panel held flat against her coat. Behind her the tent sagged and the mare stamped in the dark. The petals kept falling from the tin, one at a time, all the way down the lane.