Close view of a small colour botanical tattoo of a lilac flower with green leaves on the top of a bare foot, with a seated person in jeans beside it.

Lilac flower tattoo on a foot

Botanical · Other · Colour · Photo

A person sits on a wooden bench in denim jeans with their arms wrapped around one knee, showing a bare foot. A small flower with pale lilac petals, a yellow centre and green leaves is tattooed on the top of the foot. The petals are softly shaded in lilac and the leaves are filled in green, with thin dark outlines throughout, against a blurred green background.

Botanical Fine line Other Flower Leaves Foot Denim

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody in the valley had seen the lilac flower open since the old countess died, and the steward at Harrowmere Keep had made sure of it by walling the garden up with new stone. Tobin Vell knew this because his mother washed the steward's linen. He knew too that the bloom came up each spring through a crack in the north wall, pale as dawn, with leaves like green coins, and that it opened only for someone who asked it plainly.

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So on the eve of Michaelmas he went up the scree path with a spade wrapped in sacking and a heel of bread under his arm. The wall was cold under his palms. Inside, the garden was nettles and fallen slates, and in the middle of it the flower stood alone, its petals folded tight as sealed letters. He knelt and said, 'I need one root for my mother's door, and no more.' Nothing moved. So he told it the truth: that his mother had gone blind at the washing trough and could no longer tell her own pots from the neighbours'. Then the petals loosened, one by one, and the centre turned the colour of butter.

He dug carefully, taking earth no bigger than his fist, and wrapped the root in wet moss inside his coat. Halfway down the path the steward's lantern swung at the gate. Tobin dropped into the bracken and lay still while the light crossed over him, and the bloom above the wall seemed to lean out and keep the shadow on him.

At dawn he planted the root beside his mother's door. By spring it had opened, and she laid her fingers on the petals and said the lilac smelled of rain on a stone floor. She could make it out, she said, just well enough. Each morning after that she brushed the dew off with her thumb before going down to the trough, and the steward, passing the cottage, never once thought to ask where the flower had come from.