Black ink tattoo of an ornate key with the word Sisters in script across the top of a foot, near the ankle.

Sisters key tattoo on a foot

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A solid black ink tattoo of an ornate skeleton key runs across the top of a foot, with the word Sisters written in a flowing script along the shank. The key has a filled silhouette with a decorative bow, and the lettering is smooth and legible against pale skin. The image is a close, well-lit shot against a dark background, with a massage table label visible at the bottom edge.

Lettering Other Key Sister Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain had found the gap in the awning again, so Marta moved the trays of brass keys two feet along the trestle and let the drips fall onto the cobbles instead. Ines came in under the edge of the stall at half past four, shaking her umbrella like a dog and holding two coffees in a cardboard tray that had already gone soft at one corner.

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'The lock man on Crane Lane says he can't cut it,' Ines said, and set the tray down. She had the key in a freezer bag. It was black iron, the bow pierced with a pattern of small quatrefoils, and the bit at the end was a plain cross, the sort of teeth nobody made any more. 'He says it's older than both of us.' Marta took the bag and held it up to the grey light. Someone had scored a word along the shank with a fine file, and the letters had worn soft from years of being carried in a pocket.

They took the tram out to Pellow Road that evening, the rain thinning to a mist, to the iron gate of the allotment their mother had kept until the year she could no longer manage the path. The padlock had rusted to a single colour. Marta fed the key in, and it turned with a noise like a cough. Inside the shed, under a sack of bulb meal, was a biscuit tin with two envelopes taped to the lid, one in each of their names, and between them a smaller folded note in pencil: Neither of you will want to come. Come anyway.

Ines read hers first, standing in the doorway with the last light behind her, and then passed it over without a word. Marta did not open her own for a long time. She turned the key over in her palm instead, feeling the scored word under her thumb, and listened to the last drops falling from the shed roof into the bean trench, one after another, like someone counting.