An old letter from a faraway place
The old letter is laying on the dark oaken table, inside the same wrinkled paper envelope it arrived in so many months ago. The stamps on the envelope are worn out and stained, but you can still make out the circular gears-and-a-snake stamp of the Infinitum Republic, multiple of the simple but endearing stamps of the Confederation of the Tupai, the familiar looped-cross-of-snakes of father's company, and lastly the skeletal-hand-flipping-a-coin of your home city. Below the stamps a familiar hand has written your name and address. Exposure to water has leeched some of the ink into the paper, which has formed washed out blotches of blue-black around the text and the stamps.
You reach for the corner of the letter peaking from within the stained envelope. The same blue-black blotches of ink stain the message, but you still remember the original text well enough to fill in the blanks as you begin reading the old letter again.
A copied letter from a loved one
The ship creaks as another wave rocks it. The rhythmic sound of the steam engine is unbothered by the rough seas as it steadily pushes the ship against the wind that so desperately tries to drive everyone away from her frozen home. It is a calming sound, like a heartbeat, emphasizing the warmth of your cabin against the frost of the north sea.
The little light in the lantern flickers, but lives. It casts momentary shadows over the pine wood table, hiding the already hard to read script under a blink of darkness, and breaking your concentration. You sigh and curse under your breath. The ship rocks again, this time much deeper, causing you to feel a sting in the bottom of your stomach.
The beat of the steam heart is unchanged.
Once the ship corrects itself, you look down on the desk again. The letter, written in that accursed lamak (1) script, lays in front of you. Well, the copy of the letter anyways. Curse the clockmen and their infinite bureaucratic retardedness. You grasp the piece of paper, and continue reading where you left off.
(1) Kat Nol for Deadbeats, translating to "White/Pale Folk"