Black fine line vine with curling swirls and a small flower tattooed on the top of a foot, running towards the toes.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Swirling vine tattoo on top of foot

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A single black tattoo of a thin, curling vine with scrolls and a small stylised flower runs diagonally across the top of a foot towards the toes. The linework is fine and even, with the scrolls kept open and simple, and the ink is solid black with no shading or colour. The foot is shown against a plain black background with a denim jean leg at the top edge of the frame.

Fine line Botanical Other Vine Swirl Flower Scrollwork

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The vine came over the wall of Mirrowen in the spring the old king died, and nobody in the city would cut it, because the first man who tried found his shears had rusted through in his hand. So it grew. It threaded through the gate hinges, curled around the bell rope of St Ebb's chapel, and put out one small white flower for every year the new queen had still not been crowned.

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Tamsin Hobb, who minded the geese on the salt marsh, noticed that the vine always ran towards the sea road, and that wherever it crossed a path the stones were warm under her bare feet. One morning she followed it south past the salt pans, with her geese complaining behind her, to a place where the vine ended at the foot of a sleeping hill and turned, scroll by scroll, into the shape of a door.

Inside she found the old queen's crown lying on a bed of moss, its jewels gone to seed. A voice asked her what she wanted. Tamsin said she wanted nothing, only that the bell rope in the chapel needed a hand on it. The voice laughed, a sound like wind through reeds, and said nobody had asked the crown for anything in two hundred years except to be left alone.

She walked home with the geese. By midsummer the vine had drawn back from the city gates, and the chapel bell rang on its own at noon. The queen was crowned in the square that autumn, and on the hill the door stayed shut, while the little flowers kept opening, one for each traveller who passed them without picking.