Sepia photo of two people's inner forearms touching, with fine line script tattoos reading one in the same and two of a kind.

Matching script quote tattoos on two forearms

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two people's inner forearms are pressed together, each carrying a line of handwritten script in black ink. The left arm reads one in the same over three lines, and the right arm reads two of a kind, with the words stacked and set at slight angles. The fine, even linework and the sepia tone make the lettering look delicate, and the close crop centres the tattoos against the cream and grey fabric of the two outfits.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Quote Script Handwriting Text Matching

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ice on the water trough had to be broken every morning that January, and Bess did it, because her sister Agnes had the cows and the cows would not wait on anybody's temper.

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Their grandmother had told them about the stone at the top of Crook Lane, where the snow never settled. A woman stood beside it in winter, grey as a wet sheep, and she asked any two girls who came up the lane one question each. If the answers matched she let them pass to the far side of the hill, and if they did not she kept the shorter girl until spring. Nobody in the village believed it, but nobody had walked that lane since the year the mill burned either.

The sisters went up on the feast of the Purification with a basket of bread and their coats buttoned wrong. The woman was there, her face like the underside of a cloud. She looked at Agnes first. 'Where does the river go in winter?' 'Under the ice,' said Agnes. She looked at Bess. 'Where does it go in winter?' 'Under the ice,' said Bess, at the same moment, and then both of them glared because they had been beaten to it.

The woman laughed, which their grandmother had never mentioned. 'Then you are one in the same,' she said, 'and two of a kind, and I will not keep either of you from the other.' She stood aside. They walked home with their elbows knocking, arguing the whole length of Crook Lane about who had spoken first, and by the time the lamp was lit at the farm the trough was clear and the cows had been fed twice, once by each of them, neither willing to be outdone.