Neo-traditional tattoo of a woman with a peony in her hair and a moth below, in black, grey and mauve on the outer thigh.

Neo-trad woman and peony on a thigh

Neo-trad · Other · Mixed · Photo

A woman's face in profile sits at the centre, framed by a large peony, leaves, pearl strands and curling scrollwork in the hair. A dark moth with mauve wings sits below her shoulder, and pearls hang from a necklace and earring. Bold black outlines and smooth grey shading give the portrait its form, with muted mauve and pale purple used on the flowers, leaves and moth.

Neo-trad Botanical Other Woman Portrait Peony Flower Leaves Pearl Moth Necklace Earring Lip Tear Scrollwork

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The gate at Harrowmere has no door left, only rusted hinges swallowed by ivy, and you pass through it at dusk with a lantern you do not need yet. The old garden has gone to peony and nettle. Dew hangs from every web along the wall in strands like loose pearls, and you count them as your grandmother taught you, to keep the dark honest.

Keep reading

The moths come out first. Mauve-winged and heavy as coins, they settle on the crumbling sills of the east tower, where the Countess once sat with her hair pinned up and a pale peony tucked behind one ear. Nobody has seen her since the wedding that never happened. Her portrait still hangs in the chapel, turned to the wall, a single tear painted down the cheek in lampblack.

You climb the tower stair, dust lifting and glittering in the lantern light. At the top a moth the size of a dinner plate waits on the sill, wings folded like a closed fan. You hold out your sleeve. It walks across the cloth as though it has been expecting you for a century, its feet thin as cotton thread, ticking over your wrist.

Below, the peonies have shed their petals onto the flagstones. You carry the moth to the window and lift it into the cold. It does not fly at once. It opens its wings, and for a moment the eyespots look back at you like a woman's eyes, steady and unsurprised, before it rises over the nettles and is gone. When you turn, the chapel bell is ringing for no one, and somewhere below a chair scrapes back from a table laid for two.