Fine black script lettering runs vertically down the thigh of a person in lace underwear who is holding a silver hand mirror.

Script tattoo on the thigh

Lettering · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A person lies on a bed with a vertical line of fine black script tattooed on the upper thigh, the words largely too small and soft to read. The lettering is crisp and thin, with the warm, faded tone of a vintage-style filter across the whole photograph. Lace underwear, a silver hand mirror held in one hand and a beaded bracelet fill the foreground against rumpled fabric.

Lettering Thigh Script Handwriting Lettering Mirror Bracelet

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The candle had guttered to a stub when Master Anselm set the pen in my hand and told me to write the Duke's letter backwards. Twelve years in the copying room at Hallow Reach had taught me to make a letter look neat, never to make one that its own reader could not take in. He wanted each word turned like a reflection in still water, the line running down the margin in one thin column, so that no eye but a looking glass could read it.

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The reason was the stair. Letters climbed to the Duke's daughter in the north tower, carried by a maid who could not read, and the Duke could not bear that a plain hand might be copied by someone who could. Anselm leaned close and said so under his breath, as if the rafters had ears. So I set down the mirror-hand the old clerks had taught, each stroke reversed, sanded it dry and sealed it with grey wax. I did not once think about who might be holding the glass on the other side.

Three weeks later a reply came down the stair in the maid's apron pocket, folded small. It was written in the mirror-hand, slanting and backwards, in a girl's careful loops. I took the silver hand glass from the drawer where Anselm kept his spectacles and held it above the paper, and the words stood up straight: the lamp is lit at the north window, and I have learned the copyist's hand from the spoiled sheets you throw in the bin.