"I will not leave you," Emilia said, more loudly, resolute, unbending. "And there is no manner of protest you can put forth that will move me from my place. You are a man very dear to me," she added, soft and unsure.
Iago, in his half-prostrate state, could barely see through the crack betwixt door and frame, could glimpse naught of Emilia's form but a faint shadow, leaning against the wood with her slim hand resting beside her face. He could all but sense her bemusement, her distressed musings that made shadows flicker through her eyes and mar her features...more so now than ever.
What thoughts were even now traversing her mind? Were they bitter, condemning him for turning her away when her anguish was plain as his own? Or was it pity poisoning her cogitations? Anger? Fear? Sympathy? ...Love?
No. Whatever sentiments lurked within her, that was not one. No matter what she claimed, no matter how she haunted the door with her staunch resolve not to leave him be, no matter how she touched the chill evening air with her lips' evanescent embrace as she peered through the door...that was not one. After all he had done to her, he refused to believe that she was foolish enough to stay by such a man out of love. Love was fleeting, fickle, bringing only pain and death. Love was a thing better lived without.
Even so...he had wallowed in self-pity for too long...and it would do no good to simply leave Emilia out forsaken in the hall, whether he wished to see her or not. With a sigh heaved from the very depths of his blackened soul, he pulled himself upright, unsteadily, and moved to the door. Waiting for the telltale rustling shift of Emilia's swift movement, he nudged the door open, placing a trembling hand upon her shoulder, regarding her distraught form with something akin to sorrow...
"Come," he murmured, knowing that he had done this to her... "You should not pass the night here; you will catch a chill. Come within...I beg you."