My husband designed an enormous tattoo for me and took me to a studio to have it drawn up. The artist there was a woman with long, dark hair who resembled N. (who I worked for in Pennsylvania during the 2016 general election).
She was thrilled to take on the project and began drawing it up on parchment. In my mind, I could see the finished tattoo as it would appear on my body:
Two metal, hooked blades (like the sword-like arms the Terminator grew in T2) curved up and around my neck like a collar. There were two large skulls, one on the back of each shoulder, with wings extending from them, down my back.
When I looked directly between the wings, the tattoo became three-dimensional, and the wings parted to reveal Mt. Rushmore, under a black and flickering sky. Instead of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln, the faces in the rock were of grinning devils. In the valley below was either an erupting volcano or an evil flaming tower, like Barad Dur in Mordor. Either way, I knew that the spirits of those leering faces would rule from within that shadowy place.