"...Iago, what has happened?" Emilia asked, her mellifluous voice reduced to a shaking whisper, as befitting the trembling of her hand upon his shoulder and the cautious, fearful passion in her eyes. Her question, that one simple inquiry, made him to freeze, lean muscles pulling taut as though ice traveled through his body in lieu of human blood...
"Do you not know?" he breathed, barely audible even to himself. "Can you not guess?" For surely the Moor had told her of the probable sentence, whether he had promised to lessen it or not. And indeed, he would not lessen it, no; gross misconduct and deliberate dishonesty were grounds for unmitigated reprobation, surely...ah, undone, undone, undone!
What could he say that his look did not import already? God's sake, Emilia was affrighted yet...but not for herself, not for her own sake, but for his. He could see the wariness shining behind the fervor in her eyes...fear for his life, his sanity... Did she not see that they were even now lost to him, lost and never to return? No amount of mercy could ever undo this slight; no, the damage had been done. Othello had lost an ancient, true...but in banishing the office, he had banished the man, who had lived with one side of him in darkness afore, and now...both sides gone. Never to return. Undone, undone, undone.