The letters were not merely large. They were monumental. The smallcaps gave them a grave, formal dignity—like a tombstone for a king. The bold weight made them heavy with finality. Each serif was a razor; each stem, a pillar. When Orson inked the plate and pressed it to cotton rag paper, the word did not sit on the page. It loomed .
Bold. Smallcaps. Seventy-two points of pure, solid enough . bodoni 72 smallcaps bold
“For your father,” Orson said. “When the time comes. Not as a memorial. As a statement .” The letters were not merely large