Two photos of a matching infinity symbol tattoo with the word sisters in script, one in blue and purple and one in pink and red, on a small patch of skin.

Infinity sisters tattoo in two colourways

Fine line · Colour · Photo

The image stacks two photographs of the same infinity symbol tattoo, with the word sisters written in cursive across its centre and curled ends on each side. The top version uses teal and violet linework, while the lower version uses pink and red. The lines are fine and even, and each photo is a close crop of skin with the tattoo centred.

Fine line Lettering Infinity Sister Script Heart Swirl

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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 big top has been sold for scrap by the time you find the second poster, folded at the bottom of Vera's trunk beneath a wig that smells of mothballs and cloves. Two sisters in spangled tights, one in violet, one in rose, hang from the same figure-of-eight rope the Halloran Brothers swore nobody else could tie. You stand in the wet grass of the winter lot with a paraffin lamp in your hand and read the word printed across the middle of the sheet: SISTERS, the letters looping like the rope.

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Vera hasn't spoken to you since the Carlisle fair folded. She sends a card at Christmas with no return address, always the same pencil drawing of two swans. You know what she would say if she were standing here: the act was never about the height, it was about the return. Every loop of the figure-eight brings you back to the same bar, and the trick is to let go at the exact moment the rope swings you round.

The ringmaster's ledger lies open on the caravan step where he left it, rain pooling in the ruled columns. Someone has written in the margin, in careful pencil, a line of arithmetic that never balances: two performers, one net, one drop. You pick up the pencil. You know which figure you would cross out, and you know whose name still sits beside the rope.

You fold the poster back along its creases and walk to the gate, the lamp swinging its small pale arc over the mud. Behind you the rigging creaks in the wind, and for a moment the old ropes sound almost like a laugh. You don't turn round. You post the poster through the letterbox of the only address you still have, and on the envelope you write her name twice, once for each of you.