Black script lettering of the French phrase 'Mon cœur est à toi' set over four lines on a plain white background, shown as a design rather than on skin.

French script quote, 'Mon cœur est à toi'

Lettering · Black and grey · Flash

The image shows the French phrase 'Mon cœur est à toi' in an elegant, high-contrast script with a decorative capital M, set over four centred lines with opening and closing quotation marks. The strokes are solid black with thick and thin contrast, and there is no shading or additional ornament. It is a plain black text design on a white background with no body part visible.

Lettering Quote Script Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The board for Madame Orsolya's booth had to be lettered before the wagons left Harrow Green on Thursday, and Ada had only the one sable that still held a point. She laid it against the gesso, which was tacky from the morning, and started with the capital. Orsolya wanted French. French, she said, made the farmers' wives reach for their purses, and Ada did not argue, because the pay was good and the French was nothing to her but three words from a schoolroom primer and a verse her mother hummed over the mangle.

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'What does it say?' asked Teodor, who ran the roundabout and never stood still long enough to read anything. 'My heart is yours,' Ada said. He laughed and said that was a dangerous thing to paint on a board that would be wheeled past every lad in the county. Ada kept her hand steady on the long curl of the M. She gave the cœur its proper join and set a fine hairline on the à, the way the old copybook man had taught her, and thought of nothing but the brush.

When the wagons were gone the field was only trodden grass and a few paper streamers snagged in the hedge. Ada came back for her tin of brushes and found Orsolya sitting on the steps of the empty booth, smoking, watching the board. 'Pretty,' Orsolya said. 'Nobody will read it properly, you know. They will look at the M and go home.' Ada said she supposed that was the whole trade. Orsolya shook her head and pointed with the cigarette at the small boy from the sweet stall, who had stopped under the board with his lips moving over the words one at a time.

He read it again, slowly, and then ran off towards the hedge with the words still in his mouth, as if he meant to take them somewhere the fair would never reach.