Red lily with black swirling vines tattooed on a woman's lower torso above the waistband of her jeans, in a botanical style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Red lily with swirling vines on lower torso

Botanical · Other · Colour · Photo

A shaded red lily with yellow-tipped stamens sits in the centre of black curling vine linework. The petals have soft red gradients and dark outlines, with extra swirls branching out on either side. The tattoo sits on bare skin above the waistband of dark jeans, with a white top and black background behind.

Botanical Other Lily Flower Swirl Vine Stamen

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The guard at Hollin Gate had orders to search every cart, and so on the third morning of the thaw he searched the carter's wife, who laughed and held out her arms. Nothing was hidden in her sleeves. Nothing was in the basket but eggs and a loaf wrapped in cloth. He let her pass because the eggs were cracked and he did not want to spend the afternoon scraping yolk from the floorboards.

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Behind the gate, where the road bent round the old boundary stone, a lily had come up through the frost. Nobody had planted it. The stone was carved on one face with the arms of the lower valley and on the other with the arms of the upper, and the lily had split the crack between them, its stem red as a cut finger, its petals curling back like a question. The carter's wife stopped to look at it. She had lived on the upper side for forty years and never seen one that colour.

Her grandmother used to say that a lily grows where two things have been argued over until neither side will take it home. So the carter's wife knelt, pressed her thumb into the thin soil, and left the bulb where it lay, because she knew who would come looking for it, and that it was not hers to carry across.

That evening the guard found a few yellow-tipped stamens caught in the straw of the next cart, dry as cinders. He pressed them flat in his toll ledger, because they were the only thing all day that had not been declared. By spring the vines had climbed both faces of the stone, curling into the upper valley and the lower in equal measure, and nobody on either side could agree whose lily it was.