Two hands with white ink floral and scroll designs on the back of the hand, wrist and fingers, one hand wearing a jewelled ring and hand chain.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

White ink floral hands with jewellery

Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands rest on a wooden surface, each decorated with intricate white ink designs of scrolls, paisley-like motifs and flowers that extend from the wrist across the back of the hand and onto the fingers. The fine, detailed linework is crisp against the skin tone, and one hand wears a jewelled hand chain and a ring, with the other wearing a ring as well. The image is a close, well-lit overhead view with the designs as the main focus.

Hand Forearm Floral Scroll Paisley Flower Jewellery Ring

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Hold still, and don't go touching it, the silver's not set yet. Right, where was I. The mate was coming down the companionway with the lamp, and Cook had only a pinch of shell powder left in the tin, so she tipped it into a saucer and worked it with gum and a drop of seawater, the way you'd thin paint for a sign board. The girl's name was Esther Lowe, not a relation of mine, though she had my chin. She was going ashore at Madeira to be married to a man she'd seen twice, and she wanted her hands done like the lace on her grandmother's collar.

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She sat at the scrubbed table in the galley with her wrists on a folded towel while the ship lifted and dropped under her. Cook couldn't steady the brush for love nor money, so she let the swell do the drawing. Every time the bow rose, the line went long and curling; every time it dropped, the line came back in on itself, tight as a fist. By the time the bell went for the morning watch, there were scrolls running up both forearms and little paisley seeds opening on the backs of the fingers, and not one of them was the same as the one beside it.

The sea took the shine off the ship's brass that week, and salt got into everything, the sugar and the bread and Cook's own hair. But the white never ran. When Esther stepped off onto the stone quay in Funchal her hands were lit up like frost on a window, and her aunt took hold of one wrist and said nothing at all for a full minute. Some things the water can't wash off, love. That's the whole trick of it.