Had there ever been romance? You scarcely recalled.

Iago had been your husband for many moons now. Often inclined to bitterness and jealousy, yet still yours.

You weren't certain yet what he intended to achieve by following a man whom he hated - Othello - so obediently, but there was something to it. There always was, with Iago.

He returned to your lodgings long after nightfall. No acknowledgement of your presence. He only lay down beside you. Silent. Thoughtful. Dismissive.