Two panels show matching black script lettering tattoos on skin, reading 'You are mine' and 'I am yours', each with Roman numerals II XVI XIII beneath.

Matching script lettering tattoos

Lettering · Black and grey · Photo

The image is split into two panels, each showing a black ink tattoo of cursive script with Roman numerals below it. The top panel reads 'You are mine' with 'II·XVI·XIII', and the bottom reads 'I am yours' with 'II XVI XIII'. The linework is fine and even, in solid black with no shading or colour, and the skin tone behind the lettering is warm and reddened.

Lettering Script Lettering Roman numeral

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The toll-keeper at Harrow Ford had a rule that no one crossed the stream after the bell, and for eleven years Tomas Vail kept to it. Each evening he stood on the Ostmark bank and watched the lamps come on across the water, where Wenna Reeve lit hers in the window of the customs house. Neither of them had a boat. The stream was too wide to shout across in the wind, so they used the stone.

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The stone was a flat grey slab at the midpoint of the ford, half in each country. In spring she chalked a figure on her side, and he answered with another. They had agreed on Roman numerals because the officials could not read them quickly. Two, sixteen, thirteen. He chalked two; she chalked the rest. Nobody in either village thought it strange that a clerk and a drover kept accounts on a rock.

In winter the chalk washed away, so Wenna cut the words instead, with a nail and a hammer she kept under the desk. Her letters were tall and looping because she had learned her hand from a convent book, and his were square because he had learned from fence posts. Each cut took them most of a night, and they worked by the light of their own lamps, tapping in turn.

When the river froze hard in the eleventh winter, two guards walked out across the ice to see what the lamps were for. They found the stone scored deep on both faces, Wenna's looping hand on the east side and Tomas's square capitals on the west. Each message ended in the same three figures. The guards argued for a week about whose stone it was. By then the ice had gone, and nobody on either bank needed to ask who belonged to whom.