Silver metallic temporary tattoo of an ornate filigree design with black gems running from the wrist up the forearm and onto the hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Silver filigree design on forearm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A hand and forearm carry a vertical ornamental design in silver metallic ink, built from stacked teardrop and paisley-like motifs with scrollwork and dotted detailing. Small black gems are set into the design at several points, and the lines are fine and evenly drawn. The skin is shown against a blue sequinned fabric, with the design centred on the arm.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The silver came out of Carrow Hill in threads no thicker than hair, and Mair Oddie spent the winter drawing them out on the bench behind her father's forge. The pit had shut the spring before. The men were cutting peat now, and the village talked of nothing but the bailiff's debts and who would be turned out at Martinmas.

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The steward from the big house came up the lane in the first frost with a leather purse and a request. His mistress wanted a bracelet, long enough to run from the wrist nearly to the elbow. He counted the coins onto the anvil one by one, and Mair watched his thumb slide over the last three. Her father had gone to the coast for jet, so she weighed the wire herself, said nothing about the short weight, and took the work.

She drew the silver into teardrops, each one curled inward like a fern frond, and joined them with scrolls so fine a breath would have bent them. At every turn she set a bead of black jet from the sea cliffs at Scarth, one for each drop, until there were nine. The steward had paid for eight shillings of silver. The ninth bead was the difference, and every stone of it was honest.

The mistress wore it to chapel the Sunday after. Mair saw it from the back pew, the drops swinging at the wrist as the hymnbook lifted, the black beads catching the candles like wet coal. A note came up the lane on Monday in the steward's hand, folded around a single silver shilling. It said her ladyship was pleased and wished the same pattern for the other arm, with the same number of beads, and that this time nobody would need to count them but Mair.

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