Fine line tattoo of a Pantone colour swatch with a small label on the upper arm, with a partly visible coloured flower tattoo on the thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pantone swatch tattoo on an upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A close photograph of a person's upper arm, showing a small black outline tattoo of a Pantone colour swatch with a blank upper panel and a lower label reading PANTONE and a colour code. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the swatch sits in the centre of the frame against plain skin. A partly visible tattoo of blue and red flowers and leaves sits on the thigh at the left edge, adding colour to the scene.

Fine line Upper arm Thigh Outline Flower Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The king of Ellenmoor kept a book of forty-one shades, each one pressed on card and labelled in the clerks' neat hand, and every shade had been sent for by someone who wanted it. The forty-second page was a blank square with a narrow strip at its foot where a name should go. The guild had left it empty for three hundred years, and nobody in the dye-houses would say why.

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Ada Corrin was sent up from the dye-houses in the week before the royal wedding, with a length of ivory silk and an instruction to find the colour the queen had asked for. The queen had not named it. She had only said she wanted a colour that looked like being forgiven. Ada tried madder, then woad laid over madder, then saffron pressed thin as breath. The silk came out of every vat looking like a clean plate or a cut apple, and none of it looked like forgiveness.

Her grandmother had told her that cloth remembers whatever it was dipped in, so on the third evening Ada walked down to the Lusk at low tide and knelt on the wet stones. The river had gone the colour of the sky just after the sun has left it, grey softening at the edges, with one band of pale green holding on above the far bank. She dipped the silk and lifted it, and the light came off the wet cloth as if it had been waiting to be asked.

She carried the square back to the clerks' hall and laid it beside the blank forty-second page. Then she wrote the only word she could think of on the strip at the foot. The clerk who read it crossed out the number he had been about to copy, and the queen walked down the aisle in the cloak without anyone asking her what colour it was.