Close-up of a small botanical flower tattoo with black outlines and a jewelled stud at its centre, placed inside a person's ear.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small flower tattoo inside the ear

Botanical · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close-up photograph of a small five-petalled flower tattoo inside the upper ear, with a clear jewelled stud set in its centre. The petals are outlined in black and filled with soft peachy tones that blend with the skin, and the black linework surrounds the design. The ear fills most of the frame against blonde hair, with the tattoo as the clear focal point.

Botanical Other Flower Petal Ear

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Snow had sealed the pass above Harrowgate for nine days when the carter came in with frost in his beard and asked for a bed. Mother Hale, who kept the Stag and Lantern, had one room left, the cold one under the eaves where the chimney breast ran damp.

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He carried a small box wrapped in oilcloth and would not let it out of his hands. When he finally opened it on the table, Wenna the kitchen girl saw a single pressed flower, five petals gone the colour of weak tea, with a silver stud no bigger than a barley grain set at its heart. His sister had grown it on the south wall of a convent that no longer stood, he said. He would not sell it. He only wanted it kept dry until the thaw, and he went up to sleep with the box under his cheek.

In the night Wenna heard a faint ticking, like a clock, and climbed the stairs with a candle. The box lay open on the sill. The petals had warmed and lifted, pink at their tips, and the stud caught the flame as if it had swallowed a star. The carter slept on, snoring softly. She closed the lid, set the box back beside him, and sat on the stool until the bread needed kneading.

In the morning the road was cleared and the carter was gone, leaving a coin under the salt pot. Wenna found the flower pressed flat against the inside of her own window, five petals open, the jewel winking at the dawn. She never took it down. Each winter after, when the pass closed, she would sit by that glass and wait for the ticking to start.