Black linework tattoo on the inner forearm of a woman with long hair, a triangle eye on her forehead, and a hand holding a flame, framed by a dotted halo and vines.

Woman with all-seeing eye and flame on forearm

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A stylised woman with long, flowing hair and a single eye enclosed in a triangle on her forehead gazes forward, while one hand holds a flame or heart-shaped form. A ring of dotted marks and thin sprigs of vine surrounds the figure, and the design sits within an oval panel. The tattoo is rendered in black linework with fine hatching in the hair and no colour.

Dotwork Botanical Forearm Woman Eye Triangle Flame Hand Hair Vine Halo Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain came down over Hollin Market the way it always did in November, sideways off the moors and into the gaps between the stalls. Maud Ferrier kept her lamp lit under the awning of the candle wax stall, though nobody came to buy candles in weather like this. She had a single eye of her own, the old women said, and it saw things the rest of the town missed, though she had never once admitted it.

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On the third night a girl came up the cobbles with a cold flame cupped in her hands. It was no bigger than a sparrow's heart and it did not flicker. She asked Maud where the fire had gone out of the town, and Maud, who had been waiting thirty years for someone to ask her a plain question, told her the truth. The fire had gone into the bakehouse ovens, where it was kept for bread, and into the forge, where it was kept for iron, and nobody had thought to leave any for the people who walked home in the dark.

The girl did not weep. She turned the small flame over in her palm and looked at it a long while. Then she walked to the well at the top of the market, dipped her other hand in the black water, and set the flame down in the middle of it. The rain fell on the water and the water held the light, and the whole square began to glow from underneath, the way a face does when someone you love walks into the room.

Maud shut her good eye and kept the other one open, as she always did. In the morning the wax stall was gone and the girl was gone, and only a ring of wet footprints circled the well, like the dots around a saint's head in an old painted window.