Fine black line-art diamonds of varying sizes tattooed on a woman's upper chest, above a white bow blouse.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Line-art diamonds on the chest

Fine line · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A woman's upper chest shows five small diamond outlines in thin black linework, with the largest stones grouped near the centre and smaller ones scattered to the right. The gems are left unfilled or lightly shaded white, with a few small sparkle marks above the tops. The soft, blurred background and white blouse with a bow keep the focus on the tattoo.

Fine line Geometric Chest Diamond Gem Outline Sparkle

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step there, it's gone soft as bread. Sit where the light falls, for this is a tale about light, and you'll want to see it when I come to the bit with the sparkle.

Keep reading

The cook's boy at Harrowmere Castle was called Tam Greaves. That winter the old lord died owing the baker four loaves, and the chapel bell cracked clean down the middle. Tam went up the east stair because the wind was tearing the shutters off their hinges and somebody had to nail them shut. Halfway up, where the wall had split like a dropped egg, he found five stones lying in the rubble, each cut as sharp as a fishhook, the largest no taller than his thumb.

They weren't grey like the castle stone. They were white, or the colour of water when you tip it toward a candle, and when he held them up the sun came through the broken window and threw small cold stars across the ceiling. He tied them in his cap and walked to Thornwick market, meaning to sell them. The cloth-seller held one to her eye and called it glass. The goldsmith called it glass too, and so did the priest, who had never once in his life been wrong about a thing he didn't want to pay for.

So Tam took them home and kept them. When the spring rains came he climbed the east stair again and set the five stones in the window niche, the biggest pointing down like a drop about to fall. If you go up there now, you'll find them still in a row, catching the morning. Nobody in Harrowmere has ever been poor enough to take them, and that, my dear, is the whole of the story, apart from the bread.