Fine line black constellation tattoo of dotted stars with a small lowercase m on the upper chest, next to a red plaid shirt.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Star constellation with small letter on upper chest

Fine line · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a fine line constellation tattoo made of small dotted stars joined by thin lines, with a small lowercase m sitting in the centre. The tattoo is in solid black ink on pale skin at the upper chest near the collarbone, and a red and black plaid shirt sits over the shoulder. The framing is tight and slightly angled, with the tattoo placed on the left of centre.

Fine line Chest Constellation Star Dot Line

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The old chart had gone into the grate with the rest of Father's papers, so Ada pricked the sky again from memory, one needle-hole at a time. She sat at the drawing table in the back room of the Leith instrument shop, where the gas was turned low and the window showed nothing but the chimney opposite. Her fingers smelled of lamp oil and linseed. Mr Tulloch from the herring fleet stood behind her with his cap in both fists and asked whether she was certain of the Scorpion's tail.

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She was certain of most of it. She set the dots on the vellum where the stars had hung over the Firth on the night her father first showed her how to find them, then drew the lines between with a ruling pen, so fine they looked like hair. At the centre of the hook she wrote a small m in her own hand. It was the mark he had used for the fixed star, the one that never seemed to move. He used to say a constellation was only a promise that people agreed to keep.

Tulloch's boy was aboard the Margaret, and the Margaret had not come round the Bass Rock with the others. The men would take the chart out on the morning tide whether it was right or not, so Ada had to make it right. She went over every line twice, held each dot up to the lamp, and compared it with the brass plate on the wall that had kept true for forty years.

When she was finished she left the last star at the tail unjoined, a single dot adrift on the paper. Tulloch held the sheet up to the light, and the thin lines trembled in his hands, so that for a moment the whole sky seemed to move with him.