Tortured Soul Tattoo Novels & Stories

The echo of harm that ripples outward even at death. When I take it, the pain is instant. My tattoos ignite. Not their usual slow burn, but a furious, living red that crawls across my skin as if the evil itself wants to be seen. The marks coil down my arms, over my ribs, up my throat, vivid and angry. The soul resists, not with strength, but with malice that lingers even at the threshold of its end. I carry it through anyway, absorbing what must not return to the living world.

There is no point in doing anything right now so I keep quiet. The whole place is filled with scary-looking tattoed dudes. Bored, I started noticing the scary guy's tattoos. It's a skull, a red skull with wings and a cross. The tattoo is bright and dull at the same time. The cross it clutches seems more like a trophy than a symbol of hope, stained with a history whispered only in faded scars. Bright and dull, a paradox mirroring the struggle between survival and surrender. Art sure is fascinating. Someone walked up to him just then. He looks me up and down, "who is this, chick."

I bent over the dead soldier, my heart heavy as I realized that the same tattoo adorned his neck as well. he design was unlike anything I had seen before, yet there was an unsettling familiarity about it, a memory tugging at the edges of my mind. The tattoo depicted a flying demon, its wings outstretched, eyes aglow with an otherworldly luminescence. The level of detail was astonishing, every line and curve capturing the essence of the creature in a way that was both mesmerizing and disconcerting. The artistry was undeniable, but there was an underlying malevolence that sent shivers down my spine.

Even Chaz Duffy, her boss was an asshole and treated her talent like it wasn’t worth paying for. “Oh, wow… Would you look at that? This is such a lovely tattoo,” Tora exclaimed when she fell behind Sunny so they could climb up the stairs. “Thank you, Tora. I think so too.” “It’s such a ferocious panther… A crawling one… Is there a meaning behind this choice?” Tora asked again, genuinely curious. “How long it took? Did it hurt?” In front of such a quizzical tornado, Sunny laughed. Her ‘mother-in-law’ was so dear, so sweet.

I ask him. " On my back. And it says the heart can be darker too. And free drugs. I was seventeen then." He says and I smile. " Second?" " Omertà." He answers. " You know I actually thought that was supposed to be your first tattoo." " Nah. My dad never wanted me to have that in case I decided to leave the mob." He says. " And what does the Arabic tattoo mean? And why Arabic?" I ask. " I like them and the language. And the meaning; It means 'my soul is darker than night'. The other one is 'angels don't die'."

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.

The symbols seemed to have extended. In Arerat, the tattoo was a butterfly in my palm and claw prints under it, down to below my wrist. But right now, it was extended down to the back of my elbow, just below my upper arm. The last pair of claw prints that lay in-between the upper arm and the lower arm began to glow warmly. I could feel a soul connection with it. It's the exact feeling I got when Little Wolfy gave me its blood essence from it's glabella to join the contract of beast and beast tamer. It was as if I just...

She has followed Zitrey like a stalker since the time she leaves their house. On the other bath, Zitrey was taking her shower. Water drips down to her naked body, her fair white skin was blemished by the terrifying skull tattoo, and by the deep scars on her back like it was whipped several times. She then touched her chest where there’s a horrible burnt, a circular in shape scar, that look like a reversed lotus flower, a proof of her past that she was branded as a slaughtered slave. Her body holds a great amount of suffering. A body, a lady shouldn’t have. A vessel that remained firm, not once collapse.

He never wanted anyone to get tied to him but something was changing inside him to change everything he had around him. He was in a disheveled state when he entered his restroom and opened a drawer to take out a tattoo machine. It was his way of torturing himself. He liked to give himself pain and the last time he did was when he was inflicted with betrayal and now he was doing it again to get rid of the feelings he didn't want to endure. He didn't want any new member in his life to do the same act of bringing pain into his life. It's an appraisal that destiny always do to people by giving them what they think the

I looked into his eyes, those terrifying, golden windows into a soul I was meant to destroy and whispered, "You can trust me." He pulled me closer, guiding my arm around his back, inviting me to trace the jagged, muscular landscape of his skin. My fingers wandered over the roaring tiger tattoo, tracing the ink, until he caught my hand and steered it toward the center of his shoulder blades. "I got this tattoo to cover the pain of my past," he said quietly. "My father burned me here when I was a child.” He smiled again and I could see all the pain in his orbs.