Page 15 of Echoes of Eternity

Here, in the midst of ink and artistry, I had found a semblance of peace.

“Almost done,” I murmured, focused on the intricate floral design I was etching onto the client's forearm. The client, a young woman with a gentle demeanor, winced occasionally but held steady. Her eyes flickered with anticipation while I worked.

“Thanks for your patience,” she said, her voice a soft murmur. “This means a lot to me.”

At that moment, I felt a warmth spread through me, a reminder of why I was drawn to this profession. It wasn’t just about the art or the ink; it was about bringing meaning to other people's lives in a profound way. Each interaction felt like a thread connecting us, weaving together our stories.

I glanced up, offering a reassuring smile. “No problem at all. I’m glad I could help. Tattoos are about more than just art—they’re about marking something meaningful in your life.”

The myriad of tattoos I bore on my own skin mademe smile, each one a testament to a chapter of my life. They told stories of love, loss, and rebirth, a tapestry of experiences etched into my being. Each inked mark was a reminder of my journey, and I hoped to help others capture their own moments of significance.

She nodded, her gaze drifting to the large mirror mounted on the wall, where she could catch glimpses of my work in progress. “I’ve heard that you’re really good at what you do. A friend recommended you.”

I chuckled softly, feeling a rush of satisfaction. “I try my best. It’s all about capturing what the client wants and making it something special.”

The client nodded, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. “You really do have a unique style. There’s this extramundane feel to your work that sets you apart from other artists. It’s like you bring a bit of magic into every piece.”

I smiled at her words, preening a little at the praise. “Thank you! I’ve always believed that tattoos should tell a story or evoke a feeling, almost like they’re alive. I want each design to resonate on a deeper level, to feel like a part of you.”

She tilted her head, considering my words. “It definitely shows. I wanted something that not only looked beautiful but also captured the essence of who I am. I think that’s why I was drawn to your work.”

As I finished the final touches, the door to the shop swung open, and a new client walked in. My heart skipped a beat as I looked up. The man who entered was strikingly familiar, his presence carrying an air ofundeniable intensity. His eyes, sharp and discerning, seemed to bore into me with an unsettling familiarity.

“Hey, I’m looking to get a tattoo,” he said, his voice smooth and confident. “I’ve got a design in mind, but I’d like to discuss it with someone.”

I nodded, trying to shake off the unexpected shiver that ran down my spine. “Of course. I’m Mae. I can help you with that once I’m done here. Have a seat.”

Instead of following directions, he approached the counter, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. As he unfolded it, I caught a glimpse of the design—an intricate, detailed pattern of a bird that seemed almost beyond human imagining. My heart pounded in my chest when I stared at the image, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Mae, you got this?” one of my coworkers called out, concerned at my change in demeanor.

“Yeah, I’m just about done here anyway,” I replied, waving him off.

“This is what I have in mind,” the stranger said, laying the paper on the counter.

As I wiped away the remnants of ink from my current client, I provided her with the usual aftercare instructions while applying a second skin, a clear bandage to seal her new artwork. She nodded in understanding and politely left the shop.

The man shoved his image toward me and I tentatively looked at the design. I forced myself to focus on the image, my hands trembling slightly. The pattern was reminiscent of something I had seen before, a twisted,complex design that tugged at the corners of my memory.

“It’s a really detailed piece,” I told him, trying to keep my voice steady. “We can definitely work with this. Do you have any specific preferences or ideas for the placement?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “On my back. Just make sure it’s done with precision. I trust you’ll do it justice.”

As we discussed the details, I couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity. The design seemed to resonate with something deep within me, a memory from a past I had tried to leave behind. I fought to keep my composure, but the encounter was starting to feel increasingly surreal.

The man’s gaze was unwavering and creepy at the same time. There was something unsettling about him, a sense of recognition that I couldn’t quite place. It was as if his presence and the image were a key to unlocking a door I had long kept shut.

But it couldn't be true. I didn’t recognize his face. What was it about his presence that felt so familiar?

“Alright,” I said, finally. “Let’s schedule a time for your session. I’ll make sure we get it just right.”

He smiled, a faint, knowing smile that sent another shiver down my spine. “Looking forward to it. I’ll see you soon.”

As he left the shop, the doorbell jingled softly, signaling his departure. I stood behind the counter, staring at the empty space where he had been. Theunsettling sense of familiarity lingered, mingling with a creeping unease.

As Jake finished up with his client, I busied myself cleaning my station, the sound of the machine buzzing a comforting backdrop. Once the client had left, the shop felt quieter, the atmosphere shifting as we were left alone.

Jake glanced over, wiping his hands on a towel. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seemed a bit off earlier.” He paused, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do I need to take that strange guy as my client next time he comes back?”

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