9am
---

The blind tattoo artist shuffled over to where I lay on the bench, brandishing her needle and tints. All I could see of her face was the toothy canine grin that said I was about to feel a considerable amount of pain - so gritting my teeth, I wrapped my arms tighter around the bench and uttered a prayer to Mother Night to grant me strength.

She lowered the needle to my skin and, inch by painful inch, inked each of the seven letters upon my bare shoulder. A shrill cry blew forth from my lips at the first chill stripe of the capital, but by the curling letter 'e' I was able to bite hard on the bench to silence my whimpers. After an excruciating quarter of a day, the outline was finished, and the blind loboshigaru reached for the purple tint resting ready on the bench. The colouring was less painful, or at least I was more prepared for it this time, for not a sound left my lips this time around.

I shuddered as the artist's hot breath was blown over the drying inks, and let my body slowly relax as my protesting nerves began to still themselves. It took a good half-hour before I could flex my arms enough to dress myself. It occurred to me then that the artist must have been witness to all sorts of decorations of the flesh, both traditional and unfit for public discussion.

'Am I...has anyone ever...' I stammered, holding my robes to conceal my modesty.

The blind tattooist smiled crookedly again. 'I inscribe many names, small one. Perhaps this one is one I have scribed before, and perhaps it is one I shall scribe again. Love is a demanding mistress, and in its exquisite pleasure seeks much pain and suffering.'

I simply stared a little agape at that. 'You won't...'

'Speak of it to him? Certainly not. You have nothing to fear on that count from me. For after all, what could I possibly have seen? I am blind, blind as a bat, blind as the darkness. No one fears the blind dog, they just kick it.'

Her cackling laughter followed me as I exited the cellars of the Black Tower, pulling the fastenings on my robes as I fled.

1pm
---

It was degrading in its very core, to have to prostrate oneself before this optically challenged canine, yet the situation was made all the worse by the required nudity. Oh, it was comforting to know that the woman was blind as a bat and could see nothing, of course! However small victories are even in number not sufficient counterbalance for such injustice.

The catalogue she displayed before me bore some truly hideous works of supposed art, and I dismissed most of them instantly. Thankfully, however, there was one that suited my needs. I had decided at the start to have it placed upon my lower back, such that none would see its blemish upon my most perfect skin.

In retrospect, I should have considered that the woman you are trusting to ink most permanently upon your skin in a place you cannot personally see...is one whom you do not want to insult.

I suppose if you squint, it doesn't look quite so much like a chicken.

5pm
---

I'd thought it was a long shot, but it seemed unfair that everyone else would be able to do it and I couldn't. Just because my skin was - well, not skin at all, really. Just because I was made of smooth and impenetrable crystal didn't mean I should be shunned and unable to participate in something perfectly normal and average and -

But it's not all that average, is it, to be a shard of Xyl.

The tattoo artist regarded me with a curious expression, or as curious as a loboshigaru can look, as I walked into the parlour. With a huff, I pulled off my coat and robes, sitting down on the lone, empty chair.

'Fire resistance, please. A hundred weight, split between both arms.'

Snorting a laugh, her unseeing eyes turned on the sound of my voice and pierced right through to the other side. 'Precisely how do you propose I do that?' she asked, folding her arms across her bosom.

'I'm not the tattoo artist,' I pointed out, my form glowing suddenly green as I felt frustration rise within me. 'If it's possible to tattoo all of those stupidly small faeling, I see no reason that it's impossible to work on my form.'

Growling, the artist looked into the distance for a moment, the recognisable sign of someone communicating telepathically. After a minute the silence was interrupted by a chirping dirigible, which deposited a magic chisel into her outstretched hands. An all-encompassing grin stretched across her face as she raised both chisel and needle.

'I think we can come to an arrangement,' she sneered, and I did my best not to let my fear show as she approached me with a predatory gait.

11pm
----

I knocked on a nearby shelf for want of a door as I stood at the entrance to the parlour. The artist cocked her head, sniffed, and her lips curled back to reveal glistening pointed teeth. I swallowed nervously.

'Hello,' I murmured, moving forward and sitting on the bench. 'I...I'm back.'

'I can see that,' drawled the artist. 'Shunned by your crush, were you? Want his name stripped from your skin so that you don't have to see the constant reminder of your utter failure?'

I blinked. 'No,' I began, shaking my head. 'It was something much worse.'

I felt rather than saw the eyebrow that she raised. Leaning in, she tilted her head and let out a questioning growl.

'Well then, child. Spit it out, don't waste my time. What happened?'

Sliding my robes from my shoulder, I ran my hand over the carefully inked letters. Resigned to my fate, I opened my mouth to explain.

'He, ah. He claimed the staff and Ascended.'

Her roaring laughs echoed throughout the Black Tower for days as she deftly changed the delicately curled E into an unfolding Y.