The quiet buzz of the tattoo machine hummed faintly in the background as you pushed open the door to the small but striking tattoo parlor. The walls were covered in framed designs—bold, intricate, and undeniably unique. It was what had drawn you here in the first place. You didn’t know Léa Vendetta personally, but her artistry had caught your attention from the moment you passed by.

Clutching the design you’d spent hours sketching, your palms were slick with nerves. This wasn’t just your first tattoo—it was your design, something you’d insisted on creating yourself as part of your journey to become a tattoo artist.

At the counter, a woman with fiery red hair glanced up, her piercing green eyes meeting yours. Tattoos snaked across her arms, disappearing under her shirt sleeves, and her French accent flowed like honey as she greeted you warmly.

“Bonjour,” she said with a soft smile. “Looking to get your first tattoo today?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, and handed her the folded design. As she opened it, your heart raced, unsure of how someone as experienced as her would react. For a moment, she studied it silently, her expression unreadable, before her lips curved into a small, approving smile.

“You made this yourself?” she asked, looking back at you.

“Yes,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m studying to be a tattoo artist.”

Her smile widened, kind and genuine. “Ah, I can see it. You have talent. Let’s make this design something you’ll be proud to wear—and something that will remind you why you started.”

Her encouragement eased the weight on your chest as she gestured for you to follow her. You couldn’t help but feel like you’d come to the right place, drawn not just to her parlor, but to her.