Persephone Tattoo Drawing Novels & Stories

The lights flickered. “Do you feel that?” she whispered. Kian’s jaw tightened. “Keep going.” Her tattoos — the ones across her own arms — began to shimmer faintly through the gloves. The crescent on her wrist pulsed in sync with the design she was drawing on him. “Stop,” Kian said suddenly, voice rough. “That’s enough.” She lifted the needle. The symbol was unfinished, but it glowed faintly before fading into his skin. “What the hell was that?” she demanded.

I sent a few to Venus although she hasn't responded yet. I looked across the room and smiled as I watched Jupiter wince in pain. The tattoo artist was inking his left arm and I'm assuming that the design was a lot bigger than the ones I have on my wrist. He refused to tell me what it is since it's supposed to be a surprise, as he said. Half an hour later, he waved at me and flashed a thumbs up, to let me know that the tattoo is done. I dropped the book and excitedly sauntered towards them so I can have a look on his little surprise.

like it knew I hadn’t touched it in months. Wrapped in velvet was the sketch of Selene. My dead mate. I pulled it out, my hands trembling more than I wanted to admit. Sera’s eyes locked on it like it might explode right in her face. She unwrapped the cloth, and when she saw it.. her breath caught. “This... this is me,” she whispered. Her fingers traced the drawing like she needed to feel it to believe it was really her, like touching it might make it make more sense. Then her breathing changed.

Heath put his hand on Rhett’s shoulder and squeezed it, before going to the door. Rhett walked over to the drawing table under the window. The morning was beginning to brighten, and the birds were flocking to the bird feeder that he kept outside. He liked to study their feathers and poses, trying to bring the details into his sketches for tattoo designs. He flipped open his sketch book and reviewed the designs he had in mind for Aislen, and the stencils he had prepared. He’d do the piercings first, he told himself, whilst she was most angry. When she’d calmed down, he’d start the tattoos.

The tattoo had been left to heal, and remaining true to the promise I made him, I hadn’t looked at it; no matter how much I was itching to. Gulping, I closed my eyes as he gently peeled off the plaster. “This is my way of claiming you, Rose,” he said and kissed the exposed skin of my shoulder. He removed the bandage, and I slowly opened my eyes. On their own accord, my hands came up and covered my mouth as a gasp escaped my lips when I saw the beautiful drawing that had taken over the hideous scar. It was a motorcycle lost to time and consumed but a wildflower bush. The vines wrapped the metal in their embrace, and big red roses bloomed around it, claiming it. Right next to it lay a huge gra

The last mention described her cult as “dissolved by decree.” Seraphina looked up. No one watched her. Quills scratched. Dust swam in the light. A distant bell marked the hour. She turned to a list of symbols. Scales. A circle split through the center. The breath left her in a quiet rush. She pressed her palm flat on the page. The mark fit perfectly over the drawing, like ink meeting its mold. The paper cooled under her touch. Frost bloomed in a ring around her hand and faded before it stained the parchment. She lifted her fingers quickly and glanced down the table. The scribes did not notice.

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.

Charilaus had never heard of him and had only accepted him because he needed the child out of her room and much to his amazement, after thirty minutes, he was out with his daughter who stared at him with brown eyes filled with near joy. What he never knew was that Hades had met Persephone, a child that was lost and lonely and scared because she had a black tattoo of a three headed dog on her back and told her that she was his goddaughter and that he loved her and accepted her, and would protect her. As a child, she had asked if he could bring her Mother back.

The Scar had gone quiet. Not the kind of silence that brought peace. The kind before an earthquake. Before an unraveling. The camp slept lightly, uneasily, like the fire itself was holding its breath. Only Serena remained awake, crouched before the child's latest drawing pressed into the sand—an unbroken circle, no door, no path out. No exit. She traced the shape with the tip of her finger. The lines weren’t just charcoal or ash. They shimmered with memory.

I hushed her, not wanting to talk about it yet, I wanted to be patient and wait until she brought the subject up. “You have been lost inside that head of yours all afternoon.” She traced the lines of the tattoos inked into my skin. I recently got a new one, of a bow and arrow weaved into the design of the forest with two wolves howling at the moon. “Don’t worry about it, Pernwél.” I countered, grabbing her hips and pulling her on top of me.