Novel & Cerita Clouds Forearm Tattoo

I stopped. The tattoos I'd been catching fragments of for weeks were finally visible in their entirety, and they were — extensive. Dark ink covering both arms nearly to the wrists, climbing his chest and shoulders, wrapping around his back in patterns I couldn't fully read from here. A skull on his forearm, a snake threading through the eye socket, dark red and black. Words in Russian across his ribs — I could see them but not read them at this distance. On his chest, above his heart, a single phrase in Cyrillic I could just make out:

The red scales unlike anything I had seen before, hints of gold looked as if they were painted fresh daily. As I turned my arm over, I could see where it looked as if two tail ends were touching. Resting in the middle was a circle, clearly it was made in the image of the moon. Plopping myself down on the couch to stop my pacing, I traced my tattoo gently with my fingertips. Tadeas had a matching tattoo also on his left wrist. They were simple, elegant, and powerful, I thought. It was hard to explain, having this on my wrist allowed me to feel as if he was always with me.

His outfit was completed with sneakers that matched the colour of his jeans. I could see the ink that covered his right arm. It was from his wrist leading up to the length of his arm and disappearing under the sleeve of his shirt. I could make out some of the images. I saw a rose with a name scribbled on the stem, Jesus Christ with his hands clasped, and some teardrops flowing from his eyes. I never thought about tattoos being sexy, but looking at his, I got an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

He looked at me briefly then back at my hand that was holding onto his. The biggest and clearer of the tattoos was on the back of his palm. It was drawn with dark ink that stood out on his well tanned dark hands. At first it looked like a sun rising in the horizon and glazing over a field with details of how it shines around it in tiny well drawn marks, I soon realized it was the sea the sun was rising on and not heaps in a field. "Solem Orientem Ghe Mari" I called out the foreign words written right under the tattoo of the sun and the sea. It sounded Latin or was it Italian?

Just outside the hospital, his phone buzzed with an email. It was from the art program he'd applied to abroad, confirming his acceptance and requesting a portfolio submission. For the first time in five years, Allen picked up his paintbrushes again. --- After buying art supplies, he avoided the Foster estate and headed to Lake Vista Mountain instead. The view was breathtaking—a pristine lake nestled between rolling hills, its surface mirror-smooth, perfectly reflecting the surrounding peaks. Taking a deep breath, Allen felt years of tension melt away. The weight of his confined life lifted, replaced by a surge of long-forgotten freedom.

The hoodie draped loosely over his head, obscuring his face, but the flicker of city lights occasionally illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the hints of a sinister smirk playing on his lips. The wind picked up, a fierce breeze whipping across the rooftop and causing the hood to flutter. As the fabric shifted, it revealed a chiseled, muscular torso adorned with intricate tattoos, each line telling a story of violence, power, and mystery. Prominently displayed on the left side of his chest was a large, bold tattoo—the words *Nosce Hostem* inked in a jagged, menacing script that seemed almost to pulse with life against his skin. The tattoo, a clear message, spoke of a deep connection to

I throw the thought away. I moved over to his arms, the tattoos that I had known so well only a month.ago still etched across his skin. Sticking out against the rest, though, there was fresh ink on the inner side of his forearm, right next to his elbow. I tried to make it out but the only way I could see it fully was if I got closer. And I couldn't do that.

DARRAGH'S POV I stood in the bathroom longer than I needed to. The shower had stopped running ten minutes ago, but I lingered, one hand gripping the towel around my waist while the other wiped steam from the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, water droplets clinging to my shoulders. The tattoo on my forearm seemed to mock me now. The tree with its roots digging deep into the earth—a symbol of brotherhood and loyalty that now marked me for death. I grabbed a second towel and rubbed it roughly over my hair, then across my chest and back. No sense dripping all over the carpet out there. No sense giving Ciara more to look at than she needed to.