Colour tattoo of purple anemone flowers and a gold heart frame with a turquoise centre and script lettering, on the forearm, in a neo-traditional style.

Purple anemones and gold heart on forearm

Neo-trad · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A bold tattoo of two purple anemone flowers and a bud sits on the forearm, framed by thin black linework and curling gold scrollwork. The centre features a gold-outlined heart with a turquoise panel bearing the script word Kora in darker lettering. Colour is saturated and shading is smooth and solid, set against a blurred grey pavement background.

Neo-trad Botanical Forearm Anemone Flower Heart Bud Scroll Script Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Gather in close, you lot, because the lamps on Cutler Street are going out one by one and I won't be shouting over the rain. The flower seller I mean was called Oriel Haig, and she sold anemones from a barrow outside the old fish market, purple as bruises and black at the heart. Nobody bought them in winter. She bought them anyway, from a glasshouse man in Dorking who owed her a favour from his brother's wedding.

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One night in February a boy came up the cobbles with a coin in his fist and no coat. He wanted a single bloom for a girl who lived above the bakery, a girl whose name he had written in the condensation of a shop window with one finger. Oriel gave him three. She said anemones only open where the wind gets in, and that a flower tucked inside a heart is a promise with its lid shut. He laughed. He was twelve years old and believed that sort of talk was nonsense.

The turn came the following week, when the boy came back without the coin and without the girl. The bakery had moved north, and the window had been washed clean. Oriel took a gold-rimmed tin from under the barrow, the one her mother had kept buttons in, and pressed the last bloom flat inside it. She painted the lid the colour of the sea she had never seen, and wrote the boy's name on it in careful script.

Now here's the part you'll not believe. Every dawn after, the lid opened a crack on its own, and by the next dusk someone had left a coin on the barrow.