Black and grey drawing of a winged weeping angel statue with its hands over its face, shown as a tattoo design on a cream background.

Winged weeping angel statue design

Black and grey · Flash

A winged angel statue with its face hidden behind both hands, draped in a long, fluted gown with rivet-like studs on the arms, shoulder and waist. The linework is bold and dark, with soft grey shading on the wings, drapery and folds of the robe. The figure is centred on a plain cream background with no other elements.

Angel Statue Wing Drapery

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had sealed the Crown Inn's door by the third night, and the angel by the lychgate had not moved in all that time. My grandfather carved her from a block of Portland stone for the churchyard the year the mill closed, a winged thing with her hands pressed to her face, and the parish set her where the carts turned. Nobody could say who had asked for her to cover her eyes. Nobody liked to ask.

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My father put the rule to me plainly when I was nine. Don't look at her long, and never look when she's turned away from the road. I kept it through the summer the river rose and through the winter the bell rope snapped. So when the traveller came up the lane that night, stamping and cursing the drifts, I kept my eyes on the kettle and told him to bolt the shutter.

He did not bolt it. He stood in the doorway with his pack dripping and said the angel had turned round. I said stone does not turn, and he said he had seen her hands come down from her face and fold at her waist, the studs on her arms catching the lamplight. I went to the window anyway. The lane was white and empty except for the lychgate, and beneath it ran a single line of footprints that stopped short of her plinth and went nowhere. The traveller's boots were still wet on my floorboards.

I looked at her then, the one thing my father had forbidden. Her face was not hidden any longer. It was turned toward the inn, worn smooth as a river stone and perfectly patient. Behind me the traveller said something I did not catch, and the shutter I had meant to bolt swung slowly on its hinge. Out in the snow a bell began to ring, though the rope had snapped years since.