Realistic pink diamond tattoo with a soft grey cast shadow on the inner wrist, worn beside a silver chain bracelet.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink diamond on a wrist

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A faceted pink diamond sits on the inner wrist, drawn from a side angle with its table and pavilion facets visible. The gem is shaded with light pink and magenta tones and a soft grey shadow beneath it, which gives it a three-dimensional look. The silver bracelet with heart-shaped charms sits below the tattoo, and a dark background fills the rest of the frame.

Realism Forearm Diamond Gemstone

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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

Sit down, sit down, the soup's still hot and the best man has started on his speech, so you'll have to hear this quick. My mother's mother knew a dealer called Tobias Wren who kept a pink stone in a tin box under his counter, and every night he took it out and held it to the lamp to be sure it was still there.

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The stone was no bigger than a lentil, but it was cut so many ways that it threw the lamplight into the corners of the room like scattered sweets. Pink as a boiled sweet, pink as the inside of a shell. Wren had won it off a sailor who wanted only passage to Gdansk, and he never sold it, though people offered him houses for it. What he never told anyone was the shadow. Whenever the stone sat on the velvet, it cast a soft grey shadow that leaned towards the window, though there was no window on that side of the shop.

One February a girl came in wanting to pawn her grandmother's ring to pay for a dress. She saw the pink stone and asked to hold it, and Wren, who had been lonely for forty years, let her. The shadow slid off the velvet, crossed the floor and followed her out into the lane. When Wren ran after them both, he found the shadow at the corner, shivering on the cobbles like a dog that wanted to be let in.

"It was never mine," he said, and the girl laughed and said it had been hers all along. She took the stone and the shadow to her wedding the following spring, and my mother was the flower girl. The hall had no window on the far wall, but when the lamps were lit, the shadow of the stone on the tablecloth leaned that way all the same, as if it were listening for the door.