Back view of a woman with a colour botanical tattoo of red roses and dark leaves running from the collarbone towards the shoulder.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Red roses on upper chest

Botanical · Chest · Colour · Photo

A woman is photographed from behind with her blonde hair falling over one shoulder and a light vest top. The tattoo shows several red roses in varying stages of bloom, with a bud at the lower left and a larger open flower at the centre, joined by dark grey leaves and stems. The shading is soft and painterly, with the petals lit in bright reds and pinks against a pale, sunlit background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Cath, the bud came up on the north wall this morning, the one nobody thought would take. I went out before the rooks were up and found it split along the seam, a red so deep it looked wet. I've cut it for the kitchen table, though Mr Garrow says a ruin is no place for cut flowers. I told him this one has been no place for anything since the siege and still the roses keep coming.

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The castle is down to its bones now. The keep stands with daylight through its windows and the great hall is a lawn of nettles. The walled garden survived because Lady Ismay planted it against the wind, and the old stock has gone wild in the corners, thorns as long as my finger. I spent three weeks with secateurs and a stubborn hope, cutting out the dead wood, and every cane I cleared showed green underneath, pale as a leaf held up to a window.

The surveyor came on Tuesday with his tape and his clipboard. He said the wall would have to come down by spring, that the mortar has turned to sand and the rose is the only thing still holding the stones together. I laughed at him. He didn't see the joke, and I'm not sure I did either.

I'm posting you three cuttings wrapped in newspaper. Put them in a jam jar of rainwater and don't fuss over them. If they root, they'll be the same rose that grew over the gate the summer Father came courting Mam. Yours, Nell.

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