Hand-drawn flourished script monogram of interlocking letters in dark ink on a sepia background, shown as a tattoo design with no body placement visible.

Flourished script monogram design

Lettering · Black and grey · Flash

The image shows a hand-drawn monogram made of interlocking cursive letters with long looping flourishes and curled tails. The strokes are smooth, dark and of fairly even weight, with tapering ends. The design is shown in a single dark ink on a warm sepia, grainy background with no body visible.

Lettering Monogram Script Flourish Letter

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The steward wanted the initials worked into the linen before the first frost, so I sat in the east tower of Harrowgate Keep with a pot of iron gall and a board balanced across my knees. The wind came through the broken window like a dog that had lost its master. The bride's family was marrying into the Greys, and the letters had to bind the two houses together: a K for her own name, a G for theirs, each tail carried round the other so that neither could be picked out alone.

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I drew the K three times. The first came out stiff as a field gate, the second too fond of its own curls. On the third I let the pen run, and it lifted off at the head of the stem into a long thin hair of a stroke that curled back on itself like a fern. Mistress Odile, who kept the accounts and had no patience for my fancies, stood over my shoulder and said it looked like a hook for hanging the dead.

The bride went to the coast the night before the wedding, and nobody in the keep would say why. The linen went with her, or so I was told, and the G was never finished in the stone above the gate, where I had chalked its outline for the mason. The mason was dismissed. I was not, because nobody else could write a flourish that would hold.

Forty winters on, a parcel came back up the causeway wrapped round a bundle of rushlights. The cloth was yellow with age, and someone had unpicked the G so that its tail hung loose, and the two letters no longer held each other. I kept it. The wind still finds the east tower, and I still think my hook was the only honest stroke on the whole piece.