"Softening Stones" - Othello fan fiction
Title: Softening Stones
Fandom: Othello
Character/Pairing: Emilia, Desdemona, implied Othello/Desdemona, Iago/Emilia, Emilia/Desdemona if you look at it that way.
Summary: Emilia watches Desdemona, and wishes she could protect her. Ficlet.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Only the events of the play.
A/N: Written for Yuletide 2009. I'm not quite satisfied with it - a bit too much of a rush, perhaps.
Sometimes, Emilia wishes that she could be like Desdemona. She listens to Desdemona hum as she brushes her long, soft brown hair before the mirror, feels the smoothness of the green fabric of Desdemona’s dress as she laces it up for, watches Desdemona and Othello engage quiet, passionate words and the envy rises in her so strong that she feels she shall choke upon it.
But she could never wish any ill upon Desdemona. She is not like her husband, in whom envy is a living creature, one that winds through his veins and poisons his words and actions. No, Emilia’s fingers shall always be careful when she laces Desdemona’s dress or brushes her hair. The advice she gives shall be true and kind. And, if Emilia could, she would make all the world that Desdemona inhabits as gentle and lyrical as she herself is. She would not let men’s cruelties and lies sour her as they have soured everyone else Emilia has ever known.
When she sees the bruise upon Desdemona’s face and the tears in her eyes, Emilia has nothing to say, though every part of her being wishes that she did. She thinks of the softness of a white handkerchief, delicately embroidered with strawberries, and she is silent, frozen in her own complicity.
Fandom: Othello
Character/Pairing: Emilia, Desdemona, implied Othello/Desdemona, Iago/Emilia, Emilia/Desdemona if you look at it that way.
Summary: Emilia watches Desdemona, and wishes she could protect her. Ficlet.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Only the events of the play.
A/N: Written for Yuletide 2009. I'm not quite satisfied with it - a bit too much of a rush, perhaps.
Sometimes, Emilia wishes that she could be like Desdemona. She listens to Desdemona hum as she brushes her long, soft brown hair before the mirror, feels the smoothness of the green fabric of Desdemona’s dress as she laces it up for, watches Desdemona and Othello engage quiet, passionate words and the envy rises in her so strong that she feels she shall choke upon it.
But she could never wish any ill upon Desdemona. She is not like her husband, in whom envy is a living creature, one that winds through his veins and poisons his words and actions. No, Emilia’s fingers shall always be careful when she laces Desdemona’s dress or brushes her hair. The advice she gives shall be true and kind. And, if Emilia could, she would make all the world that Desdemona inhabits as gentle and lyrical as she herself is. She would not let men’s cruelties and lies sour her as they have soured everyone else Emilia has ever known.
When she sees the bruise upon Desdemona’s face and the tears in her eyes, Emilia has nothing to say, though every part of her being wishes that she did. She thinks of the softness of a white handkerchief, delicately embroidered with strawberries, and she is silent, frozen in her own complicity.