Black and grey pencil drawing of a shaded rose with leaves above a lace-like ornament and dangling beaded chains, drawn on paper beside rulers.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Rose with lace and beaded chains design

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

A pencil drawing on paper shows a shaded rose in full bloom with two leaves on each side, set above a lace-style ornament with a scrolled section. Fine dotted chains and beaded drops hang from the base of the design, and the petals are rendered with soft grey shading and dark outlines. The sheet sits on a surface with a ruler and a pencil at the edge of the frame.

Botanical Rose Leaves Lace Chain Bead Scroll

Find an artist for this

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

Mind the step, it's slick where the spring comes through. No, leave the lantern, the wind only wants it for a while. Right, so. The hut on the top of Dorrin's Gap was kept by a widow called Maren Ashby, who sold hot barley to carters for a penny and mended their harness for nothing if they asked her nicely. Her daughter Liesel could make lace out of spider silk if she'd had the patience, and she had a great deal of patience, which is why the valley boys never got past the first dance with her.

Keep reading

Liesel wove a shawl the winter she turned nineteen. She'd sketched the pattern in pencil on the back of a tally sheet first: a rose in full bloom, its petals shaded grey like frost on a window, two leaves each side, and beneath it a lace panel with a scroll curling out from one edge. She worked it in black thread and hung it with jet beads on fine chains, so the hem would not lift in the gap when the wind came up the pass.

The gale came in the spring of the big thaw. Tobias Wenn, who drove the salt cart and never once paid for his barley, was already halfway across the ridge when the shawl tore loose from the hook where it was drying. It went straight into the sign above the door, and the beads rattled against the boards like hail on a tin roof. Maren ran out with her apron over her head, shouting that it would be ruined. Liesel only stood in the doorway and said, let the mountain have its share.

Forty winters it has hung there. The chains still point down the valley, the way the snow runs, and any carter who can read a sign knows the weather is coming before he reaches the bend. Now mind the step on your way down.