Black and grey photo of a small Libra zodiac symbol tattooed on the nape of a person's neck, with hair tied up in a bun.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Libra zodiac symbol on the nape

Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A photograph from behind shows a small Libra zodiac symbol, a solid black glyph of a balanced scale with a curved base, tattooed centrally on the nape of the neck. The skin is pale and the hair is pulled up into a bun, so the tattoo is the clear focal point against the plain shoulders. The image is monochrome, with the background showing a white wall and a faint indoor setting.

Neck Zodiac Scale Symbol

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Ines had been told the scales at Hallam Bridge were honest because they had been honest for sixty years, and nobody on the crossing had ever thought to ask whether a thing could stay honest just by being old. Every morning she oiled the knife edges, set the brass pans level with a spirit bubble, and laid the iron weights in their velvet-lined box in order of size. Lorries came over the bridge carrying wool, carrying wine, and once a crate of live eels that thrashed until the driver swore on his mother.

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The trouble arrived on a wet Tuesday in the shape of a clerk from the customs house in the city, a man with a starched collar and a ledger under his arm. He wanted the scales recertified before the autumn inspection, and he wanted it done by Friday. Ines watched him set a bag of copper coins on the left pan and wait for the needle to settle. It settled a hair to the right. He tapped the glass and said the beam had been bent by the frost, and that a bent beam would cost the crossing its licence.

She knew the beam was true. She had checked it against the reference bar her grandfather had marked in the cellar. But the clerk's ledger had a column of figures, and the figures wanted the scales to say something other than what they said. So she did the only thing the scales allowed. She tipped the coins into the weighing tray, counted them aloud one at a time, and wrote the true sum on a card beside the pan. Then she asked him politely to put his ledger on the right-hand side and see what it weighed.

He laughed until the needle swung and stayed. Paper, she said, is heavier than people think when it is full of lies. The needle stood dead upright, the way it had for sixty years, and the clerk went out into the rain without his receipt.