Chrysanthemum Hand Tattoo Novels & Stories

It's simple, yet, captivating. It features the Italian flag in colour, a black and white rose, rosary beads entwine with the stem and thorns, and the Esposito name is carved into the rose's shaded knuckle busters that rest beneath the rose with a single petal beside it. "I'm going to cut this from your body," I tap the scalpel against his tattoo, "And I'm going to keep it as a souvenir in my husband's family home." I sneer with a wicked smile playing on my lips.

I also saw that he pick up some white Chrysanthemums and suddenly thought to suggest. "As far as I can remember my grandma said that white chrysanthemums symbolize loyalty and honesty, am I right?" I said while picking a white flower and smelling it. He did not say a word and continued to take flowers. It's pretty embarrassing that I even spoke. I wasn't answered, I better just talk to the flowers maybe they'll respond.

“I’ve never counted. At least three.” Her hand glides over my chest, slow and grounding, drifting downward — anchoring me to the present, to being alive, to her. And for the first time in a long while, the demons hesitate. “Is this where the iron went through you?” she asks after a while, her voice barely louder than a breath. Her fingers trace the tattoo on my hip, slow and reverent, following the ink that hides the scar beneath it. Two laurel branches — a symbol for her name — curve like angel wings, delicate yet strong at the same time. And a tiny heart.

I chuckled and leaned in closer to his face, bending my knees. "Watashihadare?” [Who am I?] I burst out laughing at the thought that my own people have no idea who I am. Oh, right! My tattoo. I removed the silicone cosmetics that had covered my face tattoo. His eyes widened even more when I removed the cover, and because of the dark surroundings, it slowly glows. "R-Ranshio Violet! Mōshiwakearimasen! Watashi o yurushitekudasai watashi no oroka-sa no tame ni!"

asked by a machine-like voice in Czech. “Top floor,” Rie answered. And the elevator moved upwards. When she reached her destination, she got out and walked straight to the rooftop of the hospital. Once Rie made sure that there was no one around, she took out a paper charm and stuck it on the door. She then put her hand in front of it and whispered, “Casandra Pontiff.”

Within 5 minutes the sound of helicopters overhead alerts us both to their presence. After they touch down, 6 enforcers from two helicopters march towards us. As they get closer I notice that they are covered in tattoos with one that is the same on all six, although on different parts of their arms--A golden chrysanthemum with three drops of blood falling from the petals.

Jessamine wanted to pull her hand away, but Thaddeus tightened his grip so much that she felt a jolt of pain. As they pushed and pulled, they heard the sound of something ripping. The sleeves of Jessamine's clothes were torn. Thaddeus was stunned to see the tattoo on her shoulder. It was a picture of a Red Spider Lily. If he looked closely, he could see the indents of a horrifying scar hidden in the petals. The red spider lily was a flower that symbolized death and rebirth, a fitting symbol of Jessamine's situation.

He asked. “I did promise to tell you didn’t I? The chrysanthemum is the flower of death,” she began, pointing to the largest flower, and Chris held his breath. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked, but she was actually smiling. “But I found out in Australia, they call it ‘mum’ and give it as a Mother’s Day gift.” “Really?” “Yeah. When I heard about it, the flower became pretty special to me.” “And the other one?” He asked, tracing the smaller flower that composed her black and grey tattoo.

I look at him and I feel like I'm going crazy. With a trembling hand, I touch the tattoos on his left hand. I feel hypnotized by them. There are thorns surrounded by roses. The drawing climbs on the cloth to the shoulder and then descends slightly on the back and chest. It's a great drawing. I follow it lightly with my fingers feeling tingling as I walk my finger over the tattoo. Something is written between thorns and roses near the heart. A name. "My Forever Elle". I put my hand to my mouth and sigh. What the fuck is this? Is this a bad joke?

Gianna gazed down at her wrist, looking at the small tattoo she got in her teenage years. It was a dandelion, some of the seeds scattered as if blown by the wind, forming a small musical note. Nothing about the drawing was unique, as surely, a lot of women already had the same tattoo as hers now. She had been thinking about erasing it many times over but decided not to. The black ink looked good in her milky skin, but she would rather it stayed hidden.