Neo-traditional tattoo of an ornate hand mirror with a beaded edge and pink and red flowers with green leaves, on the outer thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Ornate hand mirror and flowers on a thigh

Neo-trad · Thigh · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows an ornate hand mirror with a scrolled frame, a beaded rim and a beaded chain hanging from the handle, with a tassel-like drop at the base. Pink and red flowers with green leaves wrap around the left and right sides of the mirror. The mirror frame and beads are shaded in grey and black with bold outlines, while the flowers and leaves are filled with colour.

Neo-trad Botanical Thigh Mirror Flower Leaves Bead Chain Tassel Scrollwork Frame

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Abernethy came in on the Tuesday with the mirror wrapped in a tea towel, and I knew from the way she set it on the counter that she had not slept. "Two shillings," she said before I had lifted the cloth. "It's silver on the back. You'll see the hallmark."

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I saw it. The scrolled frame had a small rose worked into the crest, and the beaded rim ran round the glass like a rosary someone had been fingering for years. When I turned the mirror over, the chain on the handle clicked against the wood, and the tassel swung and settled. Pink and red flowers climbed the sides, their paint still bright where the gaslight caught it. I weighed it in my hands and thought of the sideboard at her house on Park Row, where it used to sit between two candlesticks.

"My husband bought it the year we married," she said. "I used to hold it up to the window to check my hat before church." She laughed, not quite properly. "Silly thing to miss."

I gave her three shillings, which was more than the shop could sensibly afford and a good deal less than the frame was worth. She took the coins and the ticket and walked out without looking back. I wrapped the mirror again and put it on the shelf above the door, where I keep the stock I do not mean to sell in a hurry.

It stayed there a long time. Customers would stop and tilt their heads at it, and I would see their faces hanging in the glass among the flowers, wavering whenever the door opened. In the end the ticket came back to me by post, six weeks after the due date, with one line in pencil: Keep it. I shan't be needing it now. I have kept it, and the chain still clicks when the shop door shuts.