Two matching black fine line tattoos of interlocking hearts with the word sisters, shown on the inner wrists of two people.

Matching sister heart tattoos on wrists

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two near-identical tattoos sit on the inner wrists of two people, each showing two interlocking outline hearts with the word sisters in flowing script beneath. The linework is thin and even in black ink with no shading, and the wrists are held up against a plain beige wall. The two designs are placed side by side, mirroring each other across the frame.

Fine line Forearm Heart Sister Script Outline Matching tattoo

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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

Now then, sit close, the stove's only just caught, and I'll tell you about the Pardoe girls. They had the same mother, the same stubborn chin and, one bitter winter, the same ink on the soft skin above the wrist. Their father ran the narrowboat Patience between Braunston and Brentford, carrying coal one way and cabbages the other, and he never once learned to tell them apart when they came off the cut black to the eyebrows.

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Dorrie was the elder and had the notion. She'd bought a stick of Indian ink from a chandler in Hillingdon, and one night at the lock, with the lamp hung off the gunwale, she pricked two outline hearts onto Nell's wrist with a sailmaker's needle. One heart tucked into the other, like two boats moored nose to tail. Then Nell did the same for her. The word came after, small and looping, because Dorrie said a heart with no name is just a bit of gristle. It stung for a week. Their father said nothing, which for him was a blessing.

The spring Nell took a room above a cobbler's in Camden, Dorrie stood on the towpath with her arms folded and didn't wave. Nell kept her hand up all the way to the bend, long after the boat was a smudge of smoke. Dorrie did not write that summer, nor the next, and the coal went up to London without either of them aboard.

Then, the following April, a parcel came to the moorings in brown paper. Inside was a fresh stick of ink and a note in Nell's careful hand: The hearts still touch if I hold my wrist to the glass. Come and see the lock before the water drops. Dorrie read it twice, put the kettle on, and found she already knew which towpath to take.