Lotus mandala tattoo design on paper

The prior has finally let me stop copying the Psalter long enough to draw the flower I promised you. Brother Aldo says a sheet of ink and patience is worth more than a week of vigils, which is what he says when he has been up since matins mending the bellows. I have sat at the end of the scriptorium table since sext with your fine black pen, working outward from the centre of the page.

I began with the heart of the lotus, a teardrop folded over itself, then the ring of petals around it, each one filled with little scrolls and dots so the ink looks like frost on a window. Each layer is a little smaller than the one beneath it, and when I reached the outermost petals my hand was so steady I could hear the candle. Above the flower I ran a stem of curls up towards the top of the sheet, and below it another, so the whole thing hangs there like a bell rope with nothing ringing it.

Sister Elin came past with the wine jug and asked why the stem went in both directions. I told her a flower needs roots as well as a way out, and she laughed and said I had been reading too much of the old travel books in the library. Perhaps I have. The lotus came to us in a merchant's parcel from the port, a dried thing wrapped in oilcloth, and nobody here has ever seen one growing.

I have left the lowest curl open on purpose, a loop that does not quite close. When the sheet dries I will send it to you, and you can finish it however you like. Keep the pen, and tell Mother the bread was good this year.

Love, Mared