Thou seems to be my only companion in this declining state. I hath spent the nights searching for rest, and the morning greets me more tired and drained than when I retired. I have strange rememberings from the night. Whether they are dreams or reality, I cannot tell. As this series of events began, I believed that nobody could trace the guilt back to me. Yet, the guilt now covers me and my stains refuse to depart. Macbeth is losing himself and hath killed his morality along with his other victims. He was too fearful, yet is not fearful enough. Too full of the milk of human kindness, yet too full of the blood of malice and treason. The dark forces I once beseeched to make thick my blood now taunt my remorse. I spend my hours in mental agony,
