Black fine line script reading wanderlust on the back of a person's neck, with dark hair pulled up behind it.

Wanderlust script on the back of neck

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A single word, wanderlust, is written in black cursive script across the back of the neck, with a long tail extending to the right. The linework is thin and even, and the ink is solid black with no visible shading. The background is soft and neutral, with dark brown hair at the top and a hand partly visible at the right edge.

Fine line Lettering Neck Wanderlust Script Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marta had walked the goat road over the Kessen pass every market day for eleven years, and in all that time the post had never come up it on a Tuesday. So when the carrier's boy arrived breathless with a letter addressed only to 'the woman who keeps the bell at Hollin Gap', she assumed someone had died. The envelope was thin. Inside was one word in a slanted hand so fine it looked drawn rather than pressed: wanderlust, with a line trailing off the last letter as if the pen had not wanted to lift.

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She showed it to Old Ansel at the forge. He read it twice, turned it over, and said the trouble with that word was that it never had a full stop. Everyone who wrote it left the tail running out of the door. Marta asked who had sent it. He shrugged and pointed at the pass, where cloud sat thick on the cairn and the bell hung silent. Nobody had come back over it since the snow three winters ago.

That evening she rang the bell for an hour, long strokes that rolled down the valley, and at dusk a figure came out of the grey with a pack and a hat pulled low. It was a girl Marta did not know, dusty to the knees, holding a second envelope identical to the first. 'You're the bell,' the girl said. 'I was told to find the end of the line.'

Marta unfolded the letter and saw that the tail of the word ran past the paper's edge and kept going across the table, an ink road running off the wood toward the door. She followed it past the trough, the well and the gate, and understood the line had never been meant to stop at the pass. She took down her pack, left the bell swinging, and went to find where it ended.