Colour tattoo of a young witch flying on a broomstick with a black cat and a green gift box against a blue sky, on the upper arm and shoulder.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Witch on a broomstick with black cat on upper arm

Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A full-colour tattoo of an anime-style young witch in a purple dress and red bow, riding a broomstick with a fiery orange tail. A black cat sits on the broom beside her and she holds a green parcel with a red ribbon. The soft blue and yellow sky with cloud bands forms the background, and the figure is placed across the upper arm and shoulder.

Upper arm Shoulder Witch Black cat Cloud Sky Bow Dress

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down on that crate, and mind the wasp in your lemonade. This was the late summer the Pearmain trees groaned under their fruit and the props in the bottom orchard had to be lashed twice. That was when the witch came over Harrow Hill, riding a broom with a tail of fire that smelled of toast, and beside her sat her black cat, sour as a lemon and not one bit fond of flying. She had a parcel tucked under her arm, wrapped in green paper and tied with red ribbon, and it was meant for old Mrs Tully, who had heard nothing from her son at sea for eleven years.

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The witch circled the cloud bands three times, scolding the cat the whole way round, until she found the gate. But the bottom orchard held no Mrs Tully, only a ladder against a tree and a boy of nine sitting in the grass with his boots off, picking up windfalls so they would not be wasted. "Are you Tully's?" she asked. He shook his head. "I'm the one she's been waiting on," he said, and when he undid the ribbon there were grey wool gloves inside and a note in a rough hand: come up the hill when the sky goes yellow.

So the witch stayed for supper, and the cat ate the boy's cheese off the plate when nobody was looking. When the light turned the colour of weak tea she lifted off again, grumbling, the fire tail sputtering over the orchard wall. Mrs Tully never did get her letter. But every September a green parcel turns up on that gatepost, and the boy never opens it until the last apple is in.