Pencil sketch on paper of the word Always in cursive script, with a Deathly Hallows triangle-circle-line symbol before it and a lightning bolt after it, drawn as a tattoo design.

Always lettering with Deathly Hallows symbol

Lettering · Black and grey · Flash

A pencil sketch on white paper shows the word Always in flowing cursive script, with a Deathly Hallows symbol (a triangle enclosing a circle and a vertical line) at the left and a lightning bolt at the right. The linework is light and grey, with soft shading and some visible sketch marks, and the drawing sits at an angle across the frame against a greyish background.

Lettering Always Deathly hallows Lightning bolt Script Sketch

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The storm came in off the bay on the night the lodger asked for the room at the top of the stairs. Mrs Penhale had let nothing since the spring, for the damp had got into the wallpaper and the window latch had rusted shut. He paid in coins that smelt of the sea and asked for paper, only paper, and a pencil cut fresh with a knife.

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Each night he sat at the washstand and drew three shapes: a triangle standing on its point, a ring pressed inside it, and a straight line running down through the ring like a mast. Beneath them he wrote a single word in a looping hand, and the word was Always. In the mornings the paper was gone, and the drawings had been scratched into the glass of the window with the tip of a key, a jagged bolt cutting across the corner where the frost never melted.

Over the kippers one morning, Mrs Penhale asked him what the word was for. He said it was for the woman who kept the light on Gull Rock, who had tended it forty years and never once let the lamp go dark. Mrs Penhale told him there had been no keeper on Gull Rock since the fire took the cottage. He nodded and said he knew. He said he had only come to finish the sentence.

On the last morning the bed was made square and the pencil lay on the sill, worn down to a stub. That evening the light on Gull Rock came on for the first time in eleven years, steady as a candle held in a kind hand. Mrs Penhale swore it was the same beam her mother used to describe, as if someone had only stepped out to fetch the milk. She never found the paper. She left the window as it was.