The Serpent's Tongue Chapter 1Author’s Note: Hello, all of you Othello and Macbeth fans! So...obviously, this is a crossover story, written collaboratively by myself and my good friend :iconStrongButGentle:. We’ll be alternating chapters; I wrote this first one, she’ll write the second, and so forth. I can’t promise super-regular updates, but we’ll certainly try our best., I wrote this one, etc. We're busy with schoolwork and stuff, but we'll try our best to write this as often as we can.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am naught but a lowly devotee of the Bard. With that in mind: yes, Bill Shakes, we’re mucking about with your canon. Tremendously. We’re not ashamed.
Oddly enough, it was not the grave discourse being held ‘twixt his general and the Scots thane that held transfixed his silent attention, though a good deal more than half of his rational mind berated him for that. No...no, it was the woman, rather off of whom his eyes could not seem to stray, though to what end, he could not divine. The woman. A wife. The wife of a thane, no less, and
I do not own Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Iago, Othello, Desdemona, any other characters mentioned, or the plays. They are owned by William Shakespeare. Enjoy!
Iago held his gaze, fixed on the woman before him, who stood as though a shadow beside the Thane of Cawdor, her husband. The two generals conversing with flowing continuity were silent to Iago's ears, and the other people around lost shape and faded like ghosts, much to Iago's pleasure, as though having vanished into the air. Such was the power of this man's determination and persistence in keeping this marble feminine statue locked in his scrutiny like a tiny mouse under the bulbous yellow eyes of a snake. Why he felt such desire to intimidate a complete stranger, and why he found her so striking, Iago knew not, but he relished in it.
He willed the force of his gaze to penetrate her, pierce her very being and embed itself within her, infect her.
The woman turned toward him, just slightly, an imperceptible motion to her distracted lord who was lost in conversation beside her, but Iago noted it. Oh, he did. She stared back at him, blankly, as though in a trance, and Iago began to think his subtle sort of hypnotism was working. Pride swelled within him at his perceived victory.
But, alas, 'twas no victory.
The woman's eyes, sharp and catlike, narrowed as she peered straight into Iago's, whose own eyes widened. Never before had anyone stared at him with such aggression. Not only were her eyes such a harsh shape in this expression she wore, almost unnaturally so, her irises...contrasted with her small black pupils, were such a frosted, icy blue, Iago actually felt chilled. He averted his gaze from those cold, sharp turquoise eyes, perplexed at how powerfully daunting they were, and tried to feign an interest in some other thing, but...found he could not. His stare kept returning to the woman, avoiding her eyes, but noting other...particularly striking aspects of her figure. His eyes ran over her ivory skin, not like the so-called monumental alabaster of his lord's wife, the fair and gentle Desdemona, but more like bitingly frigid snow. He took in her rich, decadent cascade of brown hair, like a tempting piece of chocolate that one could not resist, in spite of knowing it would make them grow plump, or a murky drink with a deadly poison mixed in. And...oh, Iago cursed himself for this, it was so unlike him, but...the woman's breasts, protruding from her, gave such a conspicuous façade of motherhood...but Iago knew, just knew, those breasts had not one drop of nurturing, caregiving milk, but were filled with the bilious black poison of the deepest cruelty. Oh, he knew it. He knew it by the slight smirk that had crept onto the woman's lips as he gawked at her breasts, as though she were trying to hold back a self-satisfied cackle. He just knew that even though she seemed to have deferred the talking to her husband, she was the dominant partner here. He could tell all of this by the demeanor she gave off, silent but deadly, steeped in vice and scheming, plotting and manipulative in a menacing, cajoling way.
Very much like Iago himself.
And oh, how this discovery thrilled him.
When the meeting was over, thoughts spun around in Iago's head. He had before held all women in hateful, spiteful contempt, but...this one was a definite exception. He thought of her in all of her serpentine, deadly allure, and he knew...
He knew he would see her again.
Though she was married, he knew...
He would have her as his own.