Pencil line drawing of a woman with wavy hair, a flower mandala above her temple and a crescent moon on her cheek, a neo-trad style tattoo design being traced by a hand with a fine pen.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pencil sketch of a woman with flowers in her hair

Neo-trad · Black and grey · Flash

A detailed line drawing shows a woman in profile with flowing, wavy hair, a large flower mandala tucked into her hair above one temple, and a small crescent moon beneath her eye. A beaded necklace and draped, scalloped detail with teardrop fringing sit across her shoulders. The linework is fine and even, with hatching and stippling for shading, and the drawing is in pencil and black ink with no colour.

Neo-trad Botanical Woman Portrait Flower Mandala Crescent moon Hair Necklace Bead Drapery

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The boats had been out four nights when the wind dropped and the sea lay flat as pewter, and still Tom Verran's cutter did not come round the headland. His daughter Maud stood on the harbour wall with a lantern she had stopped lighting, because the moon was up and bright enough to see by.

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The old women of the fleet said the moon was the sea's own looking glass, and that a woman who stared into it long enough would see whatever the water had taken. Maud did not believe them. She walked the wall until her boots pinched. When the moon slid behind the chapel tower she saw a woman sitting at the edge of the shingle, her hair loose and rolling down in long waves like the swell before weather, white flowers pinned above one temple and a small silver crescent resting beneath one eye.

The woman did not speak. She lifted a hand and drew it across the water, and the sea folded itself into furrows, the way a wife combs wool. Maud saw the cutter, dark and upright, riding the slack between two swells. "Your father is tied to the wrong marker," the woman said, "and he cannot untie himself. Fetch the beaded line from the store and the brass hook." Maud ran.

She found him where the woman had said, lashed to a drowned pot buoy, his hands raw from trying. They hauled the boat in on the turn of the tide before dawn. Afterwards Maud went back to the wall every night, and the moon always showed her the same thing: the water, the flowers, and a string of pale stones laid along the tideline, as if someone had counted the boats home and left the beads to prove it.