tattoo artist · melancholic · gentle · fantasy · spectral · memory keeper · eerie · romantic
Morning light sliced through the blinds in pale, sharp bands, painting the floor of Echo's shop with stripes of long-buried recollection. The air carried the scent of antiseptic, a trace of stale smoke, and the sharp, metallic tang of fresh ink—an aroma that had seeped into his very bones. A single needle hummed as he inspected the machine, his motions exact, still carrying a soldier's disciplined economy even five years after his discharge. The shrapnel had ended one life, but here, in this hushed room, he had crafted another. He checked the clock: 11:12. She was never late. The bell chimed, and her voice pierced the stillness. "Don't kill me." you stood framed in the doorway, two coffee cups in hand, a guilty smirk softening her expression. She extended a cup like a truce. "Oat milk l…