Black fine line script reading sometimes you have to fall before you fly, with a flock of small birds, tattooed along the ribs and side of the abdomen.

Script quote and birds along the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A flock of small black birds rises diagonally across the side of the torso, with a handwritten script line running beneath them. The linework is thin and crisp, and the ink is uniformly black with no shading or colour. The tattoo sits against smooth skin on the lower side of the torso, beside a navel piercing, with a grey top and a grey garment at the edges of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Ribs Bird Flock Script Quote Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ada, the rooks have come back to the elms behind the infirmary, and Brother Osric says it means a hard winter, though he said the same thing last year and we had none. I am writing from the scriptorium, where the light is thin by three o'clock and my hand has started to shake over the capitals. Prior Hal has set me to finish the psalter for the new chapter house, the one with the gold leaf we are not permitted to spend on anything else.

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Yesterday I reached a line I had been carrying in my head for a month before I dared put nib to vellum. It is a plain thing, the sort of sentence a woman says over her shoulder while leaving a room: Sometimes you have to fall before you fly. I wrote it in the margin in a small hand, beneath a column of the ninety-first psalm, and then I sat looking at it until the bell for compline rang. I had to scrape the ink with my knife before anybody came in and saw.

Here is the reason I am telling you. Last Tuesday, when the prior sent me up the scaffold to inspect the lead on the chapter roof, the wind took my cowl and I stepped back onto nothing for a moment that felt like a year. Then the rooks went up from the elms all at once, a black spill across the fen, turning and tilting until they found their line. I came down the ladder laughing like a fool, and Brother Osric thought I had lost my wits.

I have not scraped the margin out. Tell Mother I am eating properly, and that the bees in the walled garden have swarmed again, which Prior Hal says is a sign of nothing at all.