Black and grey crown tattoo with script reading Her King on the back of a hand, paired with a crown and His Queen script on the chest.

Matching crown tattoos reading Her King and His Queen

Lettering · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of two matching tattoos, one on the back of a hand and wrist and one on the upper chest. Each shows a shaded grey crown above handwritten script, with the hand reading Her King and the chest reading His Queen. The linework is clean and the shading gives the crowns depth, with the composition set against a light grey top and skin tones.

Lettering Hand Chest Crown Script King Queen

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You find the tin under a flagstone in the chapel, where the rain has been getting in for thirty winters and the mortar has given up. The box is the size of a bread loaf and rattles when you lift it, as if it has been waiting for someone to ask what is inside. Your torch makes the ivy outside the lancet window look like a green sea.

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Inside, wrapped in a Sunday supplement from 1961, are two crowns cut from tin and painted silver, the paint gone the colour of old teeth. One is larger, its points tipped with bent nails. The other has been sanded and reshaped to fit a smaller head. Beneath them is a folded card in pencil: "Harold says he is King of Abbot's Mill. I say I am Queen of the Fen. We will be married at the lych gate on the first of May and nobody is to laugh."

You know the lych gate. It stands at the end of the lane, bare as a coat hanger. The parish register you checked on Tuesday records a christening in June and a funeral in July, and between them, nothing at all. Whatever happened on the first of May, it was never written down, and the village has spent sixty years not mentioning it.

You walk the lane at dusk with the box under your arm. At the gate there is a bench, and on it sit an old woman in a grey cardigan and an old man with a blackthorn stick, sharing one flask of tea. You sit down between them and say, "I think these belong to you." Neither reaches for the box. They look at each other the way people do when they have been waiting for a bus that came decades ago, and then she laughs, once, and he takes off his cap.