Colour realism tattoo of a woman with a hair bun and patterned bow, white cat-eye sunglasses and a hand at her chin, on the outer thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realistic portrait of a woman in sunglasses on a thigh

Realism · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A realistic portrait of a woman with dark hair piled into a bun and tied with a black and white patterned bow. She wears white cat-eye sunglasses, rests one hand against her chin and has parted red lips, with a teal backdrop behind her head and a black strappy top at the shoulders. Soft gradients and fine shading give the skin and hair depth, and the colour is applied in warm skin tones with cool blues and greys.

Realism Thigh Portrait Woman Sunglasses Hair bun Bow Hand Lip

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Oakes kept the boarding house at the end of Gull Terrace, where the pavement gave out into shingle. The lodger who came that June carried one small case, wore a black and white ribbon knotted high in her hair, and kept a pair of white cat-eye glasses on her face even at supper, though the dining room was dim and the soup was thin. She paid a month in advance, in silver, and asked only for the attic room over the bakery, the one room nobody else wanted because the ovens kept it warm and the sea kept it loud.

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Each evening she sat by the open window with one hand under her chin, lips parted as though she meant to say something to the gulls, and watched the tide come over the groynes. Mrs Oakes, climbing the stairs with the hot water, heard her humming a tune nobody in the town knew. "It's from over the water," the girl said when asked. "My mother sang it to the sea so the sea would be kind."

On the last night of August the tide came further than anyone could remember, up the terrace and over the step of the boarding house. Mrs Oakes went up with a candle and found the attic empty, the case shut, the ribbon folded on the sill, and the white glasses set neatly beside it with the lenses turned to the window. Below, the water had reached the bakery door, and out on the grey swell a small figure in a pale teal coat was walking away from the land without once looking back.

The house never let the attic again. Mrs Oakes left the window open on still nights, and the fishermen swore that when the moon was high, a pair of white glasses still caught its light on the sill, watching the water as if waiting for the tune to be sung back.