Black and grey traditional tattoo of a woman with curled hair, spider web markings over her eyes and a hanging spider earring, on an upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Woman with spider web face and spider earring

Traditional · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A woman's head and shoulders are shown in a bold black and grey design, with voluminous curled hair framing her face. Spider web patterns with small eyes cover her cheeks and eye area, and a spider hangs from her ear. Solid black areas and grey shading create the form, and the design sits centred on bare skin against a plain background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The plums had split on the branch before anyone thought to pick them, so by the last week of August the orchard at Hollin End smelled of sugar going sour. Tamsin Hobb walked its rows with a basket on her hip and a grudge in her chest. Her uncle had sold the lower field to a man from Leeds who wanted it for a car park, and the old trees, planted by a grandmother nobody spoke of, were to come down before Michaelmas.

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Under the Bramley at the far wall lived a spider the village called Mother Lacey. She was grey and round as a thumb, and she had strung a web across the gap in the stones so fine that dew sat on it like beads of glass. Tamsin had feared her since childhood, but that evening she sat down on the cold wall and asked her plainly what a body was supposed to do about men with surveyors' pegs.

The spider said nothing for a long while. Then she began to spin, and Tamsin, too tired to refuse, let her. The threads crossed her cheeks and passed under her eyes, pale and tight, until she could feel the evening wind move through them. When she looked up, the orchard had sharpened. Every wasp and every bruised windfall showed its edge. Far down the lane she saw the surveyor's van and a pair of headlights turning in.

She went down to the village with a spider swinging from one ear, and the next morning the pegs were gone from the lower field. Nobody ever learned who had pulled them. The Bramleys stood until the apples fell, and Tamsin picked them herself, slowly, one by one, and she wore the webs all winter because the orchard seemed to see better through them.

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