Two traditional-style tattoos on a woman's thighs, an ornate hand mirror with pink flowers on the left and a dagger with a red heart and butterfly on the right.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Mirror and dagger thigh tattoos

Traditional · Thigh · Colour · Photo

Two traditional-style tattoos sit on the inner and outer thighs of a person wearing pink shorts, with their hands holding the waistband. The left thigh shows an ornate oval mirror with a pale blue glass surface, pink flowers and a red ribbon, while the right shows a dagger with a red heart and a pink and green butterfly above it. Bold black outlines and flat areas of solid colour dominate, against soft natural daylight.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, the lot of you, and mind the lamp, because this is the part about the mirror, and Old Jonah never tells it sober. Aboard the Mercy Vane, eleven weeks out from Valparaiso, there was a steward called Tilly Brace who kept one looking glass in her locker, oval, with a frame of pressed brass roses. She polished it every Sunday with vinegar and the corner of her petticoat, and she swore it was the only honest thing on the ship.

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The trouble was a carpenter's mate named Eli Harrow, who had a habit of standing too close in the galley and calling her sweetheart as if it were her name. One night Tilly turned round from the stove, held the mirror up under his chin, and told him to look. He saw a man with a split lip and a red ribbon of blood across his knuckles from knocking the purser's boy flat. He went the colour of biscuit and never spoke to her again, which was the first useful thing that glass ever did for anybody.

Then came the letter. Eli had written her one in brown ink, all sighs and promises, and she tucked it into her bodice and sailed on with it for a month, until the bosun found it folded in the bread bin. He read it out at muster in a voice like a parson, and the crew roared. Tilly said nothing. She took the bosun's own sheath knife off his belt while he was laughing, and that night she drove it into the mizzen rail, right through a heart she'd cut from the tin of ship's rations, and left it there for the whole watch to see.

A butterfly came aboard off the Horn, blown in from a cargo of orchids, and it landed on that knife the morning after. Nobody could say which of them it belonged to. When we raised Falmouth it was gone, and so were the bosun's knife and Eli's letter. Tilly kept the mirror, though. Every man who came to her locker asking for a favour, she held it up, and whatever he saw there, he stopped asking.

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