Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Woman profile and dragon in a frame on upper back

Neo-trad · Back · Colour · Photo

A colour tattoo of a woman in profile with her hair swept up, leaning in to kiss a small purple dragon creature. They sit within an ornate grey frame with scrolled edges, and a red and white rose with green leaves sits at the top. The shading is smooth and bold, with a light blue background behind the figures and a mustard yellow garment at the bottom.

Neo-trad Traditional Back Dragon Rose Frame Cameo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You find the dragon in the bin chute on the ninth floor, wedged between a broken pram wheel and a bag of nappies, no bigger than a cat and the colour of a plum someone has sat on. It hisses at you the way the lift does before it gives up. Mrs Okafor from flat 4C says it has lived in the walls since the estate went up, eating the damp and the odd dropped crisp, and that nobody should try to take it out of the building.

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You take it up anyway, tucked inside your coat, because the caretaker's sign on the lift says OUT OF ORDER and a bigger one about the pigeons. Up eleven flights the dragon grows a little heavier and a lot warmer, and by the landing it is trying to read the graffiti over the door in a squeaky, offended voice. You give it a digestive. It looks at you the way a jeweller looks at a stone that might be glass.

At the end of the corridor there is a window with no glass left in it, and the whole borough lies below, grey and gold under the sodium lights. The dragon wants to see. You lift it to the frame, and it sneezes a small blue flame onto the sill, which does not catch, and then it does something you did not expect. It leans out and kisses you on the cheek, very quickly, as if it had been saving that up for years.

The next morning the lift still says OUT OF ORDER. But someone has painted a red rose on the stairwell wall, with green leaves, inside a frame of curling grey ironwork, and the dragon is curled in the middle of it looking pleased with itself. Mrs Okafor, who has never once climbed the stairs, says she always knew it would come back for the view.