Flash sheet of white ink henna-style designs on a pale blue backing, including a paisley motif, lace bands and a dangling teardrop border, with no body placement shown.

White henna-style flash sheet, paisley and lace designs

Colour · Flash

The sheet shows several white line designs on a pale blue background: two vertical lace-like bands, a large paisley and floral motif with swirls and feathered leaves, and a smaller ornate piece with hanging teardrop strands. The linework is fine and uniform with no shading, and the white ink is the only colour against the blue. The designs are arranged separately across the sheet with a product code printed in the lower area.

Paisley Floral Lace Swirl Teardrop Mandala Scroll

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody at the Westbrook Year Nine reunion placed me until I gave my name at the raffle table. Then Mr Ashdown, who still ran the raffle and still called every cake lovely, looked at the sheet of white transfers poking out of my bag and asked whether I had finally taken up embroidery. I told him they were for Mrs Pargeter. She had taught needlework in the room above the bike sheds, and she had made us copy paisley shapes from a battered wooden board until our fingers ached.

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Mrs Pargeter was in the corner by the urn, eighty-four and sharp as a pin. She had not been invited, strictly speaking, but Denise from the year above had wheeled her in and nobody had the heart to send her back out into the car park. I crouched beside her chair and showed her the sheet. Pale blue, the colour of a school jumper left too long in the sun, with the white lines running across it like frost on a window. She took it in both hands and tilted it towards the fire door, where the light was best.

"You never could keep your curls even," she said, and tapped the big paisley with its feathered leaves curling round a seed-shaped head. "The swirl goes in first. Always the swirl before the leaf." I laughed, and she didn't, and then she pointed at the little teardrops hanging from the lace band at the bottom. "Those are for the bit where you stop being nervous. Count them. Seven. Seven's enough."

We counted them together, though there were nine, and she said nine was just showing off. Across the hall the projector flickered on and the old photographs swam up the wall, class after class of squinting children. Mrs Pargeter nodded once, as though I had passed something. I have kept the rest of the sheet in my drawer, and the teardrops are still there, waiting to be counted again.