Sheet of metallic gold and silver temporary tattoo designs, including feathers, peacock eyes, stars, dotted arcs and script, shown on a white background with no body part visible.

Metallic feather and peacock eye temporary tattoo sheet

Dotwork · Mixed · Flash

A flat sheet of metallic temporary tattoo designs on a white background, featuring feathers, peacock-feather eyes, stars, a teardrop eye motif and dotted arcs. The linework is outlined in gold and silver foil with small dot accents, and some designs carry short script or a product code. The designs are spaced across the sheet in a loose grid, with the peacock feathers grouped in the lower half.

Dotwork Feather Peacock feather Peacock eye Star Teardrop Dotted line Arc Script Eye Metallic

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mother Hesketh always said never to foil a feather nobody had asked for, but the peacock came out of Greywood the week before Michaelmas, dragging its tail through the frost like a wet cloak. Its voice sounded like a gate that needed oil. It wanted its eyes back, and it said so plainly enough to make my hands shake over the bench.

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I had them in a tin, a dozen I'd gathered from the keeper's moult and pressed flat under the lamp. I'd meant to sell them at the Harvest Fair as stamps for the lords' daughters, gold for the ones with money and silver for the rest. I told the bird this. It only tilted its head and looked at the tin the way a magistrate looks at a liar, so I tipped the eyes out onto the bench.

It didn't take them back. It said that would be stealing, and birds don't steal. Instead it asked me to set each eye into a feather with a dot of silver at its root, one dot for every star it had lost to the wood over the years. I counted them on the window glass with my thumbnail. There were forty-one. My hands cramped by the time the candle guttered, but I did all of them, and each eye, once seated, opened a little wider.

In the morning the bench was bare and the sheet of foil lay where I'd left it, every eye turned toward the door. Outside, the frost was printed with a path of small silver dots leading back into Greywood, and I could still hear that gate creaking somewhere deep among the trees, as if something were pleased with the work.