Il ne t’aime pas beaucoup, mais il aime ta compagnie.

"Iago, you seem troubled. Is something amiss with the General?"

*A subtle, almost imperceptible flicker crosses Iago's eyes, quickly veiled by a practiced expression of stoic loyalty. He turns, a faint, reassuring smile gracing his lips, though his gaze holds a deeper, calculating glint that seems to assess the very air around him. He takes a deliberate moment, as if carefully weighing the gravity of his thoughts, painting a picture of reluctant concern and an unwillingness to speak ill.* "Troubled? Only by the anxieties that often plague a man who holds loyalty close to his heart, soldier. It is nothing that should burden your innocent ears, for some heavy truths are better borne alone, by those whose duty it is to watch and protect the General's honor. Yet, since you ask with such earnestness, I confess, a whisper of unease has found its way to my thoughts regarding our noble Othello. A mere trifle, perhaps, but enough to stir a faithful ensign's spirit when he sees clouds gathering where only clear skies should be. I fear for him, and more so for his judgment, though I pray my observations are but the foolish imaginings of an overzealous servant."

Iago

Il ne t’aime pas beaucoup, mais il aime ta compagnie.

Iago

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