Small black treble clef tattoo in fine line on the inner forearm near the wrist, with a hand holding it and a feather in view.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Treble clef tattoo on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small treble clef is inked in black on the inner forearm close to the wrist, drawn with clean, thin linework and solid black fill in the stem and loops. The arm is held against another person's hand, which wears silver rings, and a feather hangs across the frame. The background is soft and muted, with the tattoo as the clear focal point.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the lot of you, the wind's been at the wall again and I won't shout over it. You see that gatestone up there, the one with the crack through the middle? Carved into it is a curl like a swan's neck with two loops hanging off its tail. Your grandmother's grandmother called it the Hook of Hollin, and she said it was the castle's only true word. Mind, she said that about most things.

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Lady Audra of Corwen kept a singer, a thin boy named Pell who could not hold a tune in a bucket but could hear one through a stone wall. The lord's men mocked him until the winter the river froze and the tithe-cart went through the ice with its bells still ringing. Pell sat three nights at that gate with a goose quill behind his ear, scratching marks into the mortar with his knife and copying every note the wind made through the broken shutters. On the third night the marks went still, and a voice came out of the dark asking what he would give for the song.

Pell asked only for the cart back, bells and all, and the voice took his singing in exchange, so the ice gave up the cart in the thaw and the bells rang out across the valley for a week. Pell never sang again. Some say he is still up there, tracing those loops in the stone to keep the wall standing, and that when a feather scrapes against the gate on a still day, it is him checking the tune.

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