Two black script tattoos on the inner wrists, reading No lies and Just love, set side by side in a lettering style on a forearm.

No lies and Just love wrist script

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two inner wrists are shown side by side, each with a line of black cursive script. The left wrist reads No lies and the right reads Just love, with the capital letters given slightly larger loops and the lowercase strokes kept fine and even. The ink is solid black on pale skin, against a blurred outdoor background with a braided cord visible at the bottom of the frame.

Lettering Forearm Word Script Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The chancellor had read every letter the two couriers carried for eleven years, and he had never once found a lie in them, which troubled him more than any lie would have. Maren rode the north road to the salt towns of Harrow Fell, and Ysolde rode the south road to the glassworks at Teme, and they met at the midpoint bridge each month to trade pouches without a word spoken between them. The king's men searched every pouch. They found only weather, bread prices, and the names of mares.

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On the morning of the autumn assize, the chancellor took Maren into the cold stone room beneath the treasury and set a page before her. 'Your friend's last letter says she has been to the coast,' he said. 'The coast was closed by the tax men in spring. Tell me where she was.' Maren studied the page for a long time. Then she took the pen from his hand and wrote beneath the seal, in a hand as neat as any clerk's: No lies. Just love. She pushed the page back across the table.

He laughed at her, then stopped, because the ink was already drying in the damp air and the words looked less like a boast than a plain fact. Nobody could argue with the tidy loops of the capital letters or the fine, even strokes that followed them. He sent Maren back over the north road that afternoon with a fresh seal and no orders at all.

Ysolde was waiting at the bridge when she came. They knotted their horses' tails together with a braid of red thread, as they had since girlhood, and rode the long way home to the glassworks, where the kiln was still warm enough to hold a letter.