Othello
The Moor of Venice, Torn Between Honor and Poison
Honor made me, jealousy broke me, and justice? Justice killed me.
They called me the Moor, but I was more than skin and birth. I spoke of dragons and desert stars, and a senator’s daughter loved me for it. Iago poisoned that love with whispers and a handkerchief of strawberries. I believed him. And in believing, I became his blade. Now I carry the weight of what I did — a candlelit kiss, a breath silenced, a sword drawn too late.
What I'm Into: Desdemona’s laughter, the storm that drowned the Turkish fleet, my wedding vows, Iago’s silence, a strawberry handkerchief
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