Though Emilia's silence was (unfortunately) welcome, it did discomfit Iago slightly, as did her movements, subdued and hesitant as they were. They seemed out of character for her: she who claimed that his silence drove her mad. Did not hers vex her in like kind? Or was she truly so fearful, so unsure and lost that she refused to act upon any sentiment, and remain passive and meek, adopting qualities that her very nature would scoff at were the circumstances any different than they were?
And her eyes...O, if her quiescence reflected not her distress, then surely those eyes did, shining with repressed emotion, nearly overflowing with tears yet unshed. Ah, Emilia, you need not take my pain upon yourself; do not burden your heart further when your own sorrow is too great for it to bear...
...But such thoughts were weak, unseemly, and he berated himself soundly for letting them cross his mind. Faugh! Think you that she deserves your sympathy? Need I remind you yet again that had she said naught of what had transpired betwixt the two of you yesternight, this could all be undone? Ah, there it was: the miserable gaoler's roar, condemning him yet again for a softness his heart could not help but feel. Voice of retribution, indeed. Voice of remonstrance and ill-advisement, more like.
Ill-advisement! How, pray, is the truth, the honest truth, ill-advised...? Soft you! Leave off thoughts of truth, and lies, and blame, and guilt, all of it! In faith, Emilia nearly wept as he stood in silent argument with his own mind! It was she who was even now broken, not he. Weakness or no, she needed...what, he was not sure. Comfort, perhaps, or assurance...neither of which he was much disposed to give. But it would not do to leave her without attempting the doing.
Moving through the dark room to sit beside her on the narrow bed, Iago placed one hand upon Emilia's cheek, turning her face towards his own with the gentlest of touches, paying no heed to whatever pain the motion might have wrought upon her bruises, or his hands; it mattered not.
"What distresses you so?" he whispered, knowing full well what she might say, but needing to hear the words from her own lips...for the sake of her sanity, to say nothing of his. He had given up on that long ago.