Small fine line black outline of a diamond with tiny sparkle marks, tattooed on the neck behind the ear of a woman with red hair in a bun.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small diamond outline behind the ear

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A woman with red hair tied in a high bun is shown in profile from behind, with the tattoo visible on the skin behind her ear. The tattoo is a small outline of a faceted diamond with a few short sparkle marks beside it, drawn in fine black lines with no shading. The plain pink background keeps the focus on the small design.

Fine line Geometric Neck Diamond Sparkle Outline

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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

The stone came up in Grandad's net on the third morning of the blow, tangled in weed like a sweet paper, and he held it to the kitchen window before he said a word about it.

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It was cut, that much was plain. Thirty-odd facets, Mrs Tallis said from the harbour office, which made it a bit of chandelier off the Marigold, the schooner that went onto the Skerry in 1911 with a hold full of Lisbon glass. Everyone on Hallow had a version of her. Grandad's was that she still sang on calm nights. Mine was simpler: she was worth a return ticket to the mainland and a pie on the way back.

I took it on Thursday's boat, wrapped in a handkerchief inside my coat. The jeweller in town had a loupe screwed into one eye and spent a long time turning the thing under his lamp. Then he said the word I had been hoping he wouldn't say, which was paste. He offered four pounds. The sea had taken the shine out of it and left only the edges.

Coming back, the sun broke through over the Skerry and the water went white and hard. I stood at the rail and watched the light jump off the stone in my palm, three bright flicks at its edge like something trying to get my attention. Grandad used to call them the stone's little bits of laughter. I put the handkerchief back in my pocket and let the boat carry me home with the thing still in my hand, unsold, its cut edges warm from my fist.