Desdemona's clear, bright eyes sparkled with modest joy as she told her tale, betraying the eagerness with which she had been harboring this news. Laughing slightly, Emilia spun the younger woman teasingly, dancing with her as her lord had apparently done last night.
"Well!" she exclaimed, her tone warm and playful. "Truly, you could not have picked a more romantic and chivalrous man as your husband, lady. To pay you such compliments..." A slight sting of envy, useless now but felt nonetheless, wormed its insidious way through Emilia's gut, but she impatiently pushed aside the feeling in shame. "Perhaps you are right; certainly that sounds as enchanting as any ballad."
To be sure, Emilia was delighted with her lady's news...but though she could subdue stirrings of jealousy easily enough, sentiments of injustice were much more difficult to suppress. And indeed, Emilia could not help but feel slighted by whatever fate had blessed and cursed her with. How was it just that last night, Desdemona and Othello had shared such magical intimacy, while Emilia had been sorely beaten? Of course, she had forgiven the dark deed, but...she could not stop her mind from dwelling on that strange, bitter irony.
O, God, she could sense Desdemona's eyes on her now; the young lady's gentle orbs were fixed in their discerning scrutiny, and Emilia knew that she found her earlier remarks suspect. Desdemona no doubt felt some confusion over her gaiety, when she knew how Emilia had been mistreated in the near past...but she could not know of all that had changed, in such little time...