Black and white photo of small fine line moon phase tattoos on a person's forearms, with four geometric line design thumbnails below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Moon phase tattoos on both forearms

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photo of a person in a leather jacket and white shirt, cropped below the face, with two small circular moon phase tattoos on the forearms near the wrists. The linework is fine and clean, with a few shaded crescent areas. Four square thumbnails along the bottom show geometric circle, triangle and half-moon designs with dotted shading.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Moon Moon phase Circle Crescent Triangle Geometric Line art Dotwork

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had shut the pass for nine days when the innkeeper's daughter, Ilse, first counted the moons on the wall. There were eight of them, scratched into the lime plaster beside the kitchen door, one above the other, each a little fuller than the last. Her grandmother had cut them there with a nail, and nobody in Harrow Dale had ever asked why.

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A traveller came in out of the white on the tenth night, a man with frost in his eyebrows and a mule that would not stop shaking. He ate the mutton without speaking. When Ilse brought him a candle he looked at the wall and laughed, not unkindly, and said the moon was never really gone, only turned away from the people who could not see it. Then he asked for the room with the broken shutter and paid in silver that had no faces on it.

In the morning the pass was clear and the mule was gone. Ilse found the shutter propped open and a half-circle of frost on the sill, neat as a compass drawing. She took a nail from the drawer and scratched a ninth mark beside the others, dark side down, and then, because her grandmother had always said a moon is only ever half of itself at once, she scratched the lit side in as well, one clean line at a time.

By spring the plaster had cracked around the marks, and the inn was full of walkers who never noticed them. Ilse kept the nail. Some nights, when the snow came in sideways, she would stand at the wall and count the phases back to the first, the way you might count the steps of a stair you know in the dark.