Close crop of a person in black faux leather leggings with lace panels and studs, with a black and grey tattoo visible across the upper abdomen above the waistband.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Studded lace-up leather leggings with a torso tattoo

Other · Black and grey · Photo

The image is cropped to the torso and legs, with the head out of frame. A dark tattoo is visible at the top left across the upper abdomen, shown in black and grey ink. The black leggings have lace-up front ties, sheer black lace panels with a floral pattern, and rows of metal studs along the seams.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last panel would not lie flat. Edie Marsh pinned the lace over the seam with three brass tacks held between her teeth, then swore round them in the dialect her mother had used on bad bread. Beyond the workroom window the harbour wall was going grey, and the gulls sat along the rail like creditors waiting for the boats to come in with nothing to pay them.

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The leggings were for a woman who came in every October and never gave her name. She paid in sixpences and sea-glass, and she wanted leather soft enough to bend at the knee, lace the colour of a bruise, and studs set along every seam like a row of tiny lanterns. The roses in the lace were the hard part. Edie had unpicked them from an old altar cloth her grandmother kept in the chest under the stairs, the one that had come ashore wrapped around a drowned girl from the Pelham wreck, and she had not told the customer that. Some things a dressmaker keeps to herself.

The woman came for her fitting at dusk, when the lamp was lit and the sea had turned to slate. She turned slowly in front of the cracked mirror, then stopped and touched the front lace where the ties crossed. 'You've put the roses on the outside,' she said. 'My mother always wore them inside, so the sea would not see them first.' Edie said nothing. She tied the cord in a double knot, then a third, and the woman nodded as though a debt had been settled.

When the door closed, Edie stood at the window and watched her walk down the wet cobbles toward the slipway. The studs caught the last of the light all the way down, and then the fog took her, and Edie went to the chest under the stairs to count the roses she had left.