As March came in with a sudden snowstorm, I sat down and thought about the micro-fiction for the month. Of the two stories I planned to write, the Tattoos one felt right as the first tale to share. So I hopped over to my notes for the series and started outlining the next brief moment in Lucas and Elouise’s journey. Each step brings her closer to inviting and claiming her first guest. But with any new path the early days are the most troubling. While Lucas has offered every reassurance so far, sometimes another perspective is needed.
Lucas’s workshop is a place where quiet craft carries deeper meaning. Bottles of ink sit beside worn tools, and every surface holds memories of careful hands and deliberate choices. In this room, the work done is never about art alone. Rather, it’s about preserving something that might otherwise disappear.
For Elouise, the workshop has been a place of learning. She’s watched the basics of the process, listened to the stories, and studied the rituals that guide Lucas’s craft. Yet some lessons cannot be learned through observation alone. Certain questions only rise when a person stands close to the moment where curiosity becomes responsibility.
On this visit, the room feels different. The stillness presses a little heavier, and the familiar tools seem to carry a quiet expectation. Before any decision is made, before any new mark is set into skin, there is a moment where reflection settles in and a single question asks to be answered.
Excerpt of Silent Weight
Elouise walked through Lucas’s workshop, her fingertips brushing the table as silence gathered around her. At the far end, she lifted a vial of Lucas’s prepared ink. The dark liquid clung to the glass like a secret refusing to settle.
“Your thoughts are slipping through.”
A shudder ran down Elouise’s back as her fingers tightened about the ampule. She exhaled and returned it. Her fingertips lingered on the cork before she turned, locking eyes with Rosa’s faint, ethereal gaze.
“I suppose so.” Elouise’s lips curled into a smile as she slipped into the workbench’s seat. “What do you assume I’m pondering?”
“That’s easy,” Rosa said as her form swirled around Elouise, “your first guest.”
As Elouise’s laughter filled the workshop, she reached out and caressed the ghost. “Did you really choose this existence?”
“I did.”
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