Black script lettering reading There is Beauty in Brokenness across the collarbone, in a fine line lettering style.

Script quote across the collarbone

Lettering · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a single line of cursive script reading There is Beauty in Brokenness, running diagonally across the upper chest below the collarbone. The linework is fine and even, filled in black with no shading, and the letters have consistent weight. A pink top strap and a hand at the bottom edge of the frame sit beside the tattoo against plain, lightly lit skin.

Lettering Fine line Chest Script Quote Lettering Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The mason's boy has already chipped the first word, so you start again with the brush at the gate of Harrowden Keep, where the north wall came down in a winter nobody talks about. Lady Marrin wants the motto back over the arch before the bishop's visit, and she wants it in the old flowing hand, the one her grandmother's sampler was stitched in. You tell her a hand cannot be rushed. She tells you the bishop cannot be kept waiting.

Keep reading

You climb the scaffold with a tin of gold size and a sable brush worn down to three hairs. Below you, the rubble has been swept into heaps that the village children have claimed as hills. The stone under the lettering is cracked straight through, a fault that runs from the keystone to the springing, and every stroke you lay has to bridge it. You learn to carry the line across the break rather than around it, letting the loops dip into the crack and rise on the far side, so the words seem written by something that has walked over the damage and kept going.

On the third evening the wind drops and the light goes long and copper over the ruined hall. Marrin comes up the ladder herself, which no lady has done in your memory, and she reads the words slowly, moving her lips. She asks whether the crack will show. You say yes, if anyone looks. She says good, let them look, and then she lays her gloved palm flat against the stone beside the fault, as if checking for warmth.

You finish at dusk. The gold catches the last of the sun and the crack goes dark beneath it, every letter bridging the split like a hand held across a gap. The bishop arrives the next morning, reads the arch, and says nothing at all about the wall. You still think that was the finest thing the Keep ever said about its repairs.