Black script lettering reading Soror Amata with a small heart beside it, tattooed along the forearm.

Script lettering with heart on forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows the words Soror Amata written in flowing black script across a forearm, with a small outlined heart to the right of the final letters. The lettering uses bold, tapered strokes with long looping tails on the capitals, and the ink is solid black with no shading. The composition is a close, slightly angled view against a dark background, with the tattoo running across the centre of the frame.

Lettering Forearm Script Lettering Word Heart

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bag came to the lost property hatch at Penrith on a wet Thursday in March, a canvas holdall with a broken zip and a bundle of rail tickets tied with wool. I had been reading the Latin on the back of them for a quarter of an hour before I understood that the words were not a shopping list. Soror amata. Beloved sister. Each ticket carried a line of it in pencil, the capitals stretched into long loops that ran off the edge of the card, and beside the last one someone had drawn a small heart.

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The luggage label gave the name Ada Winthrop, Carlisle. My sister had been Ada Winthrop before she married, and she had written to me from every station between here and Glasgow, the way we did when we were girls and Father would not let us use the telephone. I had not seen a pencil loop like hers in nine years. I had not known she was still making them. The label was in a stranger's hand, and that was the first thing that frightened me.

I rang the number printed beneath it. A man answered, polite and tired, and said his wife had left the bag on the 16:40 in the spring, the week before the funeral, and that he had not known what to do with it. He asked whether I wanted it posted on. I said no. I said I would come.

The next morning the 16:40 pulled in late, as it always had. I took the last ticket out of the bag and walked it down to the bench where she used to wait for me, and I sat there until the guard blew his whistle. The ink had faded to grey. I did not need to read it again.