Edgar Allan Poe Tattoo Novels & Stories

I want more. I sit up, taking my shirt off, leaving me in only my panties. Scott wet his bottom lip as he stared at my breast, before his eyes connect with the tattoo on my stomach. He stops. "You weren't kidding huh?" He asked, lowering his head to stare at the black paint on my pale skin. "Nope" "My Phoenix" he reads it out, a smile on his face. "You got this for me" He says and I nod. "You didn't have to babe"

Even asleep, his arm was wrapped around my waist with a firmness that said *you’re not going anywhere. Then I saw my wrist. Where the silver arrow had pierced me, where the wound should have left a scar, there was something else. A symbol. Small, the size of a coin, as if someone had engraved it with invisible ink that only showed under certain light. Angular lines curving into themselves, forming a pattern I recognized instantly. Dark Tongue. I had a demonic symbol tattooed on my wrist. *“Pretty, isn’t it?”* The inner voice. Soft, purring — like a cat stretching after a long nap.

The morning light dances across his back, revealing the black ink that traces the length of his spine. The tattoo. A poem he'd inked over the spine-long scar that nearly took him from me. I still remember the way he had bled profusely on that platform. I rise slowly and walk to him, reaching out before I can stop myself. My fingers trail over the words. The letters curve beautifully down his skin, ending with my name. He goes still under my touch, then he glances over his shoulder, smiling softly. He mouths, "You like it?" I nod, blinking back the sting in my eyes. "You wrote it for me,” my fingers tell him.

He said and she swallowed hard. “What are these?” The tattoos were of several animals, some of them lunging, some snarling, some roaring and some resting. The tattoos were entrancing, something about them compelling. She felt like those eyes were alive, following her every movement. She touched a hand to the tattoo that was directly over his heart and he sucked in a breath at the touch of her fingers, rocking back on the balls of his feet. “I know this one.” She whispered. It was the same eagle that had saved her in Bare bones realm.

I smiled, though my body trembled slightly with unease. He smirked, his eyes darkening as he sauntered towards me. Slowly, he reached out, invading my space. My gaze drifted to his chest, where intricate tattoos sprawled across his skin, half of his left chest completely inked. There was a large python coiled menacingly, its fangs bared as if ready to strike. Surrounding it were other symbols—a bleeding dagger, an intricate skull wrapped in thorns, and a blood moon rising behind them all. The ink seemed almost alive, dark and haunting, like it held secrets too dangerous to reveal. I had seen something like this before. The imagery was disturbing, almost as if he were part of some secretive c

‘’Yes,’’ I answered sheepishly. Apart from his beautiful features, I get to admire some ink of his that are visibly available for my eyes. There was this one quote that caught my attention though, it’s written in Cyrillic script. ‘Life is nothing more than a nightmare, but death, the longing sleep dreams of life.’ The letters are in cursive writing tattooed on his neck, barely noticeable because it was being toppled over by a few stronger marks. A tail of a dragon was creatively cloaking the script, I’ve seen that dragon ink once, in that bathroom incident. I averted my gaze from him as soon as I realized I was staring too long. Scolding myself for being stupid. I shouldn’t be admiring him.

He did. He introduced me to his organization as his daughter. He trained me personally, how to fight, how to shoot, how to kill. He got into my head. I became a totally different person. He gave me a tattoo that matched his. We were three who had that tattoo on our arms in that organization. I, Pa Alejo and Tyler. Tyler was the son of Pa Alejo's right hand. The tattoo was of an eagle attacking its prey. He said it signified glory and what not.

My eyes drifted down to his torso, and my breath caught. God must have enlisted his finest artist to carve Killian Knight. The tattoo, a haunting web of thorned vines, began at his right hip and sprawled across his torso. Its black branches reached his heart, with another branch peeking over his left shoulder and spreading down his arm to his elbow. The intricate design, hidden beneath his clothes, was now fully exposed.

“Who are you talking about? I don’t know anything about her, Agnes as I said earlier is not familiar to me. His rebellious tone made my anger reach the roof. I pressed my dagger deeper on his Adam's apple but there was not even a sign of slight fear. Picasso’s composure held steady. Looking intently into my eyes with a deadly serious air about him, he said: “I am not lying. I don’t have any information about Agnes. ” Any word that came out of Picasso only irritated me further. I stared at him with hard eyes and suddenly, my eyes were drawn to his arm. What attracted my attention was a mark on him: the tattoo which was only half concealed by the sleeve. The symbol was clearly recognizable; it

“I’ve never really looked at you this way. But now, it’s all starting to make sense. The date on your forearm…” I let my gaze drift lower, tracing the sharp lines of his torso. There were other tattoos scattered across his skin—fragments of a story only he knew. A Latin phrase curved along his collarbone, the ink bold and deliberate, “Memento Mori”—remember you must die. “Hayden?” He whimpered in his sleep. And groaned. I lifted my gaze to his face. Hayden whimpered softly, tossing in his sleep. Tears ran down his temples. Pain was written all over his face, frozen somewhere beneath a nightmare and a cursed reality he couldn’t escape from.