Red pencil drawing on tracing paper of a figure wearing a tall ornate headdress and tinted sunglasses, with one hand raised near the mouth, shown as a possible tattoo design.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Red pencil sketch of a headdressed figure in sunglasses

Colour · Flash

The drawing shows a figure in profile wearing a tall, ornate headdress with a central raised emblem and geometric detailing, plus large tinted sunglasses. The lines are fine and sketched, with soft shading on the face and lips and some hatching in the headdress. It is drawn in a single orange-red ink or pencil on pale tracing paper, with a red pencil placed at the left edge of the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tracing paper had gone soft at the corners from three weeks of Mr Okafor's thumbs, and Ruth could still smell the ink on it when she came in on the Monday, before the kettle was on. The brief was pinned above the light box: copy the crown exactly, the disc at its centre, the stepped geometry running down either side like the teeth of a comb, and leave the rest to the sitter. Nobody had said who the rest was.

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She worked in red pencil because the master had always insisted on it. Blue, he said, was for things that might be forgiven; red was for things that had to be right the first time. The pencil had been sharpened so often with a Stanley knife that it was barely the length of her thumb. She laid the sheet over the source print and followed the hatching in the headdress line by line, the little raised emblem coming up under her hand like a coin pressed into mud.

On the Thursday the light box showed her what she had missed. Under her tracing, faint as a bruise, lay older lines: a second set of shoulders, and a lens-shaped gleam on the tinted glass that she had taken for a reflection. Mr Okafor had drawn the piece twice, once for the client and once, she understood now, for himself. He had buried the second version under the first so that anyone copying it would never quite get it right.

She did not trace it. She sharpened the red pencil down to nothing, pressed the last sliver against the paper and drew the crown the way it had been drawn in the first place, the emblem a fraction off centre, because that was where his hand had always wanted it.

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