Small solid black silhouette tattoo of a witch in a pointed hat and flowing dress, on the upper arm beside a coin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Witch silhouette on the upper arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A small solid black silhouette of a witch in a pointed hat and flowing dress, with arms outstretched and one leg raised, sits on the outer upper arm. The design is filled with flat black ink with no shading or greys, and the skin tone is light. A one unit coin rests below the tattoo for scale, against a blue-grey sleeve.

Upper arm Witch Silhouette Hat Dress Coin

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Every Thursday my mother sent me up the hill with a loaf wrapped in muslin, and every Thursday the witch was dancing on the broken curtain wall of Hollin Castle, as though the stones had been laid for her feet alone. She never looked at the path. She kept her arms wide, one knee lifted like a heron deciding whether to strike, and her hat pointed at the sky as if it meant to take the next star.

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I asked her once why she danced there. The wind took half my question. She laughed, a dry sound like a page turning, and said the castle had been built by men who could not bear a single thing moving without their permission, so she moved for them, slowly, every night, until the mortar gave up. "Mortar always gives up," she said. "It's only a matter of who keeps time."

That autumn the bailiff came with two men and a cart to strip the stone for a new mill. They climbed the wall at dusk and stopped, because she was there, black and sharp against the orange sky, her hem flaring like smoke. Nobody spoke. The bailiff's hat blew off and rolled away down the scree, and nobody went after it.

I still take bread up on Thursdays. The mill has no roof now and the men have gone home. Last week I found her on the bottom step, not dancing, only waiting. She tipped her pointed hat at me and lifted one leg. I lifted mine. My shadow kept going on the stones long after I had stopped.