A small black line tattoo on the lower abdomen of a person in black lace lingerie, kneeling on a bed and holding a glass.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small line tattoo on lower abdomen

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows a person kneeling on a bed in black lace lingerie, with the face cropped out of frame and a glass held in one hand. A small black line-drawn tattoo sits on the lower abdomen just above the waistband of the underwear. The image is in warm natural light against a pale background, and the tattoo is the only ink visible.

Fine line Other Line drawing Abdomen

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wren had been drawn in one unbroken line, and Nell Hardcastle could never work out how the pen had lifted so few times. She kept the sketch pinned above the sorting bench at the Lockwood Road post office, between the feed merchant's calendar and a note reading PARCELS BEFORE NINE. Every morning, before the first van coughed to life in the yard, she tapped it once for luck.

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The parcel came on a Tuesday, wrapped in brown paper and addressed only to The Girl Who Draws Wrens, Lockwood Road. There was no return address, just a postmark from Penzance and a stamp with the Queen's head turned slightly askew, as if someone had licked it in a hurry. Inside, under tissue, were forty small drawings of the same bird, each one smaller than the last, until the final wren was no bigger than a fingernail. Tucked against the bottom was a heel of rye bread, still faintly warm, wrapped in greaseproof from the bakery across the road.

She had been doodling those wrens in the margins of the delivery book for years, a habit nobody had ever remarked on. It took her a while to remember that Mr Okafor from the bakery had once mentioned a lodger who sat in his back room before dawn, sketching on the backs of flour bags. The lodger had left in the spring, owing him four weeks' rent and a sack of plain flour.

She pinned the smallest wren beside the first one. Outside, the van engine caught and rattled, and in the bright margin of the page, the bird seemed for a moment to lift its one unbroken line off the paper and make for the window.