Why did it have to be at Ophelia's funeral? I could have restrained myself until the proper time had it been else. But to use the funeral of my dear sister as an excuse for some rant about his supposed love for her, that was too much. I doubt not that he did love her, but to drive her mad argues no great feeling. I loved her, with all my heart, with every fibre of my being, with my entire soul. And for him to claim that 'forty thousand brothers' could not love Ophelia more than he – 'twas a lie. He ne'er loved with the intensity I did.
I should not have leapt upon him then, in my sister's grave, but the fire coursing through my veins forbade any other course of action. There was no thought in my head but one 'Hamlet must die.' I wanted revenge, for my father, for my sister. Oh Ophelia, wherefore didst thou love him? Must I be forever damned in thy esteem for murdering one whom thou didst consider the pinnacle of nature? But he had to die -his crimes could not go unpunished. But I could not kill him there, though I wished it so. We were plucked asunder, but my revenge was not long in coming, though I paid for it dearly.
But 'twas as it should have been. I doubt that much enjoyment would I have gleaned from life had mine own treachery not revenged itself on me. My whole family is in th'earth, and what is man without those he loves? I would have had little joy of the world – methinks 'twas better to die how I did.
I do not remember much of that fight, though the happenings before it stand out clear in the gallery of my mind. The only memory I do retain is that of the pain that ripp't through my body as the instrument of my revenge turned upon me. 'Twas worse than I had e'er experienced, and the closing in of death came as some relief. I follow'd my sister and my father, and so our noble line was brought to an end, concurrent to that of the more famous family.
They say the tragedy was that of Hamlet, but what did he lose that I did not? He lost his father, true, but I had no hand in that. He killed my father, and my sister – was I not justified in seeking to avenge them? And yet how am I remembered? As a villain, one only interested in seeking out death. And yet Hamlet, who killed many more than I – five murders in all: myself, my father, my sister, and my friends Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (whom he though of, wrongly, as spies) – he is though of as a tragic hero. How is't possible? Nay, I forgot – Hamlet had Horatio to tell his story. I had no-one. But I have redressed the balance somewhat here, I hope.
Any he who reads this, let him tell my story to th'listening world, and dispel the myths that Hamlet's words have propagated. Mayhap someday the tale of this great tragedy will be told without the bias, and my reputation and that of my family shall be salvaged. 'Til then, I wait, and hope.