Loose watercolour-style red rose and green leaf design on a forearm, shown beside a printed copy of the same artwork.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Red rose and leaf design on forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A forearm and wrist are photographed against a gold patterned tablecloth, with a red and black fabric pouch in the top corner. The skin shows a soft, painted-looking floral design of red roses and green leaves that runs from the wrist towards the elbow, with a printed sheet of the same artwork lying beside the arm. The image appears to show a temporary transfer rather than a permanent tattoo, and the colour is red and green throughout.

Botanical Forearm Rose Leaf Flower Floral

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You find the rose on the north curtain wall of Hallow Ness in the third week of June, when the surveyor's van is already parked under the gatehouse. Its canes have levered the mortar out of the stones in long grey ribbons, and the flowers hang over the drop as though they have decided to be seen from the sea.

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Mrs Garrow, who holds the lease on the ruin, wants it gone before the county man arrives on Thursday. She hands you a pair of secateurs with the blades already oiled and says the damp gets into everything here. You climb the scaffold with the sun on your neck and cut away the dead wood first, then the green, until the wall is bare grey stone and your gloves are stained the colour of wine. Halfway along, a cane resists you. When you tug it free, a tin box comes away with it, wedged in a gap where the rose has been growing around it for decades.

Inside is a folded letter dated 1911, written by a woman called Agnes Pell to a husband who went down to the harbour one February and never came back up. She asks the gardener to leave one cane standing so that he will know where to find her when he returns. The ink has bled into the paper, but the instruction is clear. You cut every other stem on that wall, and you leave the one that reaches for the water.

Before you climb down, you press a red petal between the pages, the way she must have done, and close the lid. Below, the tide keeps its own slow time against the rocks, and the rose, unhurried, goes on flowering over the place where she waited.