Three fine line white snowflake tattoos on a person's shoulder, with a pink bra strap and dark top visible beside them.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

White snowflake tattoos on a shoulder

Fine line · Shoulder · Colour · Photo

Three white snowflake designs sit on the skin of a shoulder, with the largest in the centre and two smaller ones to either side. The linework is thin and delicate, and the white ink stands out against the lighter skin tone. A pink strap and a dark top appear at the edge of the frame, and the background is dimly lit with a window to one side.

Fine line Shoulder Snowflake Winter

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ice had come in overnight, thick as icing on the rails, and Dessa was the one sent up with the gaff to knock it off before the skipper saw the stanchions bowing under it. Her breath hung in front of her. The Marguerite rolled slow in the grey harbour mouth, and every swing sent a crust of white skittering across the deck like sugar off a cake.

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Her grandmother had always said no two snowflakes were ever alike, and Dessa had argued the point at nine years old across a kitchen full of cousins, insisting that nobody could possibly check. Nobody had checked since. Mr Pell came out of the wheelhouse with his oilskins flapping and said the net was hauling heavy, so she went aft with him to the drum, pulling her woollen cuff down over her knuckles.

The trawl came up black and streaming, full of cod that slapped the deck like wet washing, and tangled through the mesh were frost crystals, hundreds of them, thin as breath and clinging wherever the spray had frozen. Dessa caught one on the side of her finger before it cracked. She looked at the nearest arm, then the next, and they were not alike at all: one notched, one curled like a fern frond, one with a tiny hook at its tip. Pell swore at the winch. She kept her hand out in the cold a moment longer than she needed to.

Later, with the fish iced in the hold and the light going, she went up on deck and found the first snow of the winter coming down out of a sky the colour of pewter. She held out her palm and waited. Each flake landed, glittered for half a breath, and was gone, and she stopped trying to count the arms.