Solid black silhouette design of a witch in a pointed hat riding a broomstick, surrounded by swirling flourishes on a white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Witch on broomstick silhouette

Black and grey · Flash

A solid black silhouette of a witch in a pointed hat, leaning forward on a broomstick with her cloak trailing behind her. Curling, wispy flourishes extend from her hair and the broom, framing the figure on the left. The image is in pure black ink on white with no shading, and the figure is shown on its own without any body or skin visible.

Witch Silhouette Swirl Cloak

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Gull Rest had nine rooms, a leaking conservatory and one rule, painted in white on a board above the hall table: no broomsticks on the landings. Nobody had needed to read it since my grandmother's time, so when Miss Odile Marr arrived in October with a carpetbag, a pair of silver buckles and a broom wrapped in brown paper, Aunt Winifred simply took the parcel from her and carried it up the back stairs herself.

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That first night the wind came off the sea sideways and rattled every sash. I saw her from the top landing, a black shape in a pointed hat against the lighthouse beam, leaning over the banister to rest her hand on the broom's handle as if it were a dog that needed settling. At two she went out through the French doors. The hair she had pinned so tightly at supper came loose and curled out behind her in long wisps, and the gulls on the chimney pots rose up shrieking and did not come down again until dawn.

She was back before breakfast, of course, damp at the hem and smelling of kelp and cold iron. She paid for the room in coins nobody had minted for a hundred years and left a note under the saucer: Mind the cliff path after dark. It keeps its own hours. Aunt Winifred read it twice, then laughed the way she laughed at bad weather.

When Odile left at the end of the week, the broom was gone, but a fine black thread of bristle lay on the windowsill of her room, curled like a question mark. I swept it into my palm and tipped it into the grate. The next morning it had climbed back onto the sill, coiled neatly, pointing towards the sea.