Colour neo-traditional tattoo on the upper arm showing a woman's face with red roses beside a cartoon man in a dark suit running with a smaller figure on his shoulders.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Woman's face and cartoon figures on upper arm

Traditional · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A colour tattoo shows a stylised woman's face with rosy cheeks and red roses in her hair on the left. To the right, a cartoon man in a dark suit runs forward carrying a smaller figure on his shoulders, who wears a blue backpack and has a yellow object near his hand. Bold dark outlines, flat colour fills and grey shading give it a traditional, illustrative look.

Traditional Neo-trad Upper arm Woman Face Rose Suit

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Past midnight the gas lamps on Cinder Row went out one by one, and the only light left was the painted woman above the pawnbroker's door, her roses dark with rain. Tobias Quill ran under her with his grandson on his shoulders. The boy, Ned, held a yellow paper boat in one fist and a satchel of tin soldiers in the other. He kept his eyes shut, because his grandfather had told him the city only moved when you didn't look at it.

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They ran because the bridge clock had struck twelve and the ferryman would only wait for the second chime. Tobias's shoes slapped the wet setts. Behind them the bells of St Oswin's began ringing the wrong number of times, and the shopfronts shivered and leaned toward the river the way old people lean toward a fire. Ned whispered that the boat was for the water, so the water would know which way to take them.

At the quay, a stone angel with a cracked wing stood aside to let them pass. Tobias set the boy down on the last step and pressed the paper boat onto the black water. It did not sink. It turned once, bright as a coin, and drifted upstream toward the lamps that had never gone out. Behind them the city stopped its shuddering and went still.

Ned opened his eyes. "Again," he said, and Tobias laughed, because the ferryman had been dead for forty years and had only ever wanted a fare. After that Tobias never ran past the pawnbroker's door without looking up, and the painted woman, who had watched every midnight of his life, never once looked away.