Black fine-line script lettering reading What would Love do? along the forearm near the wrist, with a hand and gold bracelets raised beside it.

Script quote on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A photograph of a hand with long almond-shaped nails, rings and gold bracelets, showing a black script tattoo running along the lower forearm towards the wrist. The tattoo is a fine-line cursive phrase reading What would Love do?, with a slight curve and varied letter heights. The image is in warm, soft tones with black ink only, set against a plain beige surface.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Quote Lettering Hand Bracelet Ring Nail Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Demetrios charged her a full obol for the first line and half an obol for each line after, and by the fourth Iphis had stopped counting the cost aloud. She sat on a low stool by the harbour gate with her hands folded over a bundle of wool, the sea wind lifting the edges of the papyrus he had weighted with two river stones. "Tell him the goats are sold," she said. "Tell him the roof of the upper room has held through two winters without him."

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He wrote in the quick cursive his master had beaten into him, letters leaning and running together, the reed dragging thin black lines across the sheet. She went on: the price of barley, the cousin who had married a potter from Canopus, the nephew who could now read his own name. Each sentence cost her something. He could see it in the way she pressed her thumb hard into her palm. When she finished she was silent so long that a gull landed on the wall above them, looked at the ink pot, and flew off again.

"Write one more," she said. "Nothing about the roof. Write: what would love do?" He looked up. She shrugged. "He will think I am asking him to come home. I am not asking. I want to know what you would do, scribe, if the choice were yours." He wrote it smaller, in the margin below the fold, the last word curling back on itself like a hook.

She paid the two drachmae and then a third coin for the question, which he had not expected and did not refuse. He rolled the papyrus, tied it with red thread and handed it over. Long after she had gone up the quay, Demetrios sat on with the reed drying in his fingers, and found he could not decide which of the two of them the question had been written for.