Matching profile tattoos with a red rose

Forearm · Mixed · Photo

Two matching tattoos sit side by side on the inner forearms. On the left, a woman's profile with hair swept up in bold, flowing black lines. On the right, a horned profile leans towards a small red rose, with the horns and jaw outlined in thick black strokes. The linework is heavy and mostly solid black, with only the rose in colour, and the pair is framed on a dark background.

Forearm Woman Profile Rose Matching tattoo Couple

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, you lot, and mind the fire, for the frost has got into the beck again and the wind is coming off the top field like it owes us money. My grandmother's grandmother kept the Tarrant place when the snow reached the sills, and she told this one to anyone who would stay still long enough.

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There was a farmer on the far side of the moor who had lost his wife to the fever and his ewes to the foxes, and in the last hard week of the year he rode out with nothing but a sack of turnips and a bad temper. The road gave out at a stone gate. Beyond it stood a hall with one lit window and a herd of black cattle standing in the drifts as if they were waiting for a sermon. The farmer snapped the last red rose from the hedge, the only colour for miles, and he meant it for his youngest girl, Nell, who had asked him for nothing else.

The keeper of the hall came out with a lamp held high. He had horns like a stag, grey at the tips, and a face all brow and grief, and he said the rose had cost more than a sack of turnips could pay. So the farmer sent Nell up the hill in his place, and she went without a word of complaint, because she was braver than every man in the parish put together. She fed the cattle, mended the byre roof with her own two hands, and every night she sat across from him at a table laid with bread and salt, and every night he looked at her a little longer than was decent.

Here is the part they never tell in the village. The keeper was not cursed for being monstrous. He was cursed for being lonely, and a spell like that lifts only when someone stops flinching at the horns and starts looking at the man. Nell did. In spring the thaw came roaring down the beck, the stone gate swung open on its own, and the rose on the table had kept one red petal all winter, the way a stubborn thing will when it has been loved properly.