My dearest journal,
My dear, it has been quite the night, I say.
Macbeth didst kill the king.
Cold now the blood is on these white, cursed hands.
I did, with care, twice check the daggers there,
That they were well in place for all to see.
For they can't know Macbeth's hands bear his blood.
What of our King Duncan? He's now heav'n bound.
For sure, my lord, Macbeth, did see to that.
He did approach with hands stained red.
But still in hand the dagger lay.
So I did go to place the deadly tool.
The bodies lay spread wide before my feet,
Their faces shadowed, eyes glazed yellow.
What came of me to cause this sight?
A poison in my heart poured to their cups.
Death dost linger all throughout the castle.
The folly of Macbeth could be the end.
I fear for him, I fear for me,
Though royalty we soon shall be.
Macbeth be king, and I his queen.
But that has not yet been acquired.
The prize is close, the battle won, but still
Is yet alive king Duncan's son.
Malcolm shall soon fall.
But if we both are caught, what shall come of it?
For he, Macbeth, has just gained trust,
There is too much at stake to be for not.
There are shouts outside the chamber.
The days to come shall be as swift
As Macbeth to gain the crown.
The flame goes out, and black darkness remains.
A protecting shadow from my blames.
I must go, false pain to show.
For they can't know Macbeth's done deed.
The way I go is dark as night, the end
Bright as the sun. But should I stumble,
My soul be lost to all, even Macbeth.
Until the body has been rid, farewell.
-Lady Caitriona Macbeth