The weight of Hell itself rests upon my shoulders tonight as I write this entry. My dear Macbeth sits just across the room from me, but I find myself feeling more completely and utterly alone than I ever have. Whenever I close my eyes, the horrid image of the beloved King Duncan splayed in a crimson pool of his own blood haunts me entirely. I fear that my health is rapidly deteriorating as I can no longer find restful sleep. I have been told that when I do manage to fall asleep, which is very rare, I apparently roam the castle muttering and carrying on about terrible deeds. It is only a matter of time before I unintentionally give myself and my husband away.
All was supposed to be well after Macbeth murdered Duncan. We were supposed to be
All was supposed to be well after Macbeth murdered Duncan. We were supposed to be