Fine line black ink tattoo of a small girl in a pinafore dress with long hair, placed on the upper back near the shoulder blade.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small girl in a dress on the shoulder

Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A small standing girl in a pinafore-style dress with long, loosely drawn hair is tattooed in black ink on the upper back. The linework is fine and sketch-like, with light hatching and shading in the skirt and hair. The design is in black and grey against a warm skin tone, with a dark strap crossing the upper left of the frame.

Fine line Shoulder Girl Dress Hair Figure

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Mr Hollis,

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You will think me mad for writing at this hour, but the lamplighter has just passed under my window for the second time tonight and I cannot sleep for thinking of the shadow. You will remember it was my sister's, not mine. She left it on the hearthstone of the Bramley Street house the day we moved, folded like a pinafore, and I have kept it in a biscuit tin since.

Tonight it rose out of the tin on its own, unfurled itself across the floorboards and walked to the window. It pressed its hatched grey edges against the glass as though the fog outside were a page it wanted to be drawn on. I opened the sash. The shadow stepped onto the sill, turned round, and waited, the way a girl waits at a gate for someone to finish a sentence.

Then the gas lamps down the street all went out together, and in the dark I could see only the shape of its hair, loose and sketched, blowing against a sky the colour of wet slate. I followed it down the steps in my stockinged feet. We crossed Canal Road, past the chapel, past the pawnbroker's shuttered front, until we came to the river wall where the fog thickens and the lamps are never lit.

It stopped at the edge and laid itself flat on the stones, as neat as a hem. I understood then that it did not want to leave me. It wanted to be fetched home. So I knelt, and the moment my hand touched its outline the cold went out of the night, the lamps came back on in a row, and I was standing alone at the wall with my own shadow pooled at my feet, very faint, as if it had been waiting for me too.

Yours, in some alarm, Constance