Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Lavender sprig on the side of the neck
Fine line · Neck · Colour · Photo
A small lavender sprig runs vertically along the side of the neck, with several purple flower spikes at the top and a thin green stem below. The linework is delicate and the purple and green ink is soft and slightly faded. The close crop sits behind a dangling chain earring, with dark hair falling across the upper right of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The still had sat cold for three winters when Marta finally lit the firebox again. The first thing it gave off was a grey smoke that smelt of nothing, and she stood in the yard with her sleeves rolled and waited, because her father always said a still would tell you what was wrong with it if you gave it time.
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Down the terraces the lavender had gone to seed in rows nobody had cut. Her brother had sold the sickles to a scrap man for forty francs and a bottle of plum brandy, and Marta had not forgiven him for either. The bees still came up from the valley every July, working the grey stalks as if the harvest had never stopped. She used to think that was the saddest thing about the place, how faithfully they kept their appointments.
On the fourth morning a girl from the post van came up the track with a letter addressed to a woman who had been dead since spring. She wanted a sprig for the envelope, she said, so the dead woman could smell the hills. Marta cut the last purple spikes with a kitchen knife, wrapped them in newspaper, and heard herself say the valley had been bigger once, which was not what she meant.
That night the condenser ran cold and clear, and a single bead of oil gathered at the spout, trembled, and fell into the glass. Marta held the lamp to it. It was not much, one drop, but it was enough to make the thing a still again, and she sat on the step until the stars came out over the terraces and the bees, somewhere in the dark, went quiet.
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