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When I expressed a curiosity about the tattooers' art, she refused to let me mark my own body, say I was too young for such a decision. But without the least qualm, she let me observe, and finally assist with the slow pricking of dye into her own ankle and calf that became a coiled garland of flowers.
There's barely one paragraph about what Patience's relationship with Fitz was like outside of the main events of the books, but I think so much about these lines about her tattooing her own leg while he watches. I love them, your honour.