Traditional style flash drawing of a woman in profile with dark curled hair and two red flowers with green leaves, shown on a sheet of paper.

Profile woman with red flowers in hair

Traditional · Colour · Flash

A drawing of a woman in right-facing profile with voluminous dark grey curled hair, decorated with two red five-petalled flowers with orange centres and green leaves. Bold black outlines define the features, with grey shading on the hair and soft red blush on the cheek. The design sits on a pale, watercolour-style beige background with teal shadow accents at the neck and shoulder, and the paper is photographed on a wooden surface.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The boarding house on Gull Strand had one rule that Mrs Penhallow never bent. No guest came down to breakfast with wet hair, because the salt got into the pillows and the pillows got into the gravy. Her daughter Edith broke it every morning. She went down to the shingle before the bell, pinned two wild roses above her ear, and came up with the sea still in her hair. Her mother pulled the flowers out and set them in a jug on the sill, where they dropped their petals one at a time.

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The old people on the Strand said a woman who lived by the water could only be looked at from the side. Turn her full face to you and she would go to foam on the sill. So when Tobias Rudd came down from town to mend the chapel clock, and took the room above the kitchen, he kept his eyes on the clock face and his back to the window. He was a careful man. He wound the clock on Tuesdays and took his tea alone.

On the last Thursday of the month, the tide came up under the front door and stayed. Edith stood at the top of the landing with the water running from her. Tobias did not turn round. He asked her, in the plain way of the coast, whether she meant to come down or go back, and she said she had waited a year for someone to ask her that without looking. Then he looked at her, and the sea went back out past the step.

Mrs Penhallow found the jug full of petals the next morning and no wet footprints on the stairs. The clock on the chapel ran true for the rest of the summer, and nobody on the Strand ever again saw Edith's face from the front.

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