You can’t see her tattoos, but they’re there. The vivid ink on her chest, hips and legs — somebody’s covered them up in a simple black dress with accompanying lace around the neck. If you really wanted to see them, you could glance at her V-shaped neckline and see a hit of some black ink on her chest above her breasts, but you probably won’t peek. So they’re my little secret; only I know what’s hidden there.
Her first tattoo, the one everyone can see, is curled around her right arm, a simple, elegant floral vine of black roses and thorns draping around her elbow and up her forearm to resemble a creeping ivy wall on an old brick building. It’s faded now. The sunlight and weight loss and razor blades have taken away some of its initial luster. It looks greyer than ever against her own grey skin.