So just quickly wanted to add that I have never done something like this before (I know... everyone says that heh). It was "supposed" to be a soliloquy but eh I think I just ended up having fun.

Note: I don't remember if it is officially stated how Lady Macbeth died apart from the obvious. So this "soliloquy" occurs after Act 5, Scene 1 (I think) after she has lost the plot, roamed the halls, and has returned to her sleeping chamber.

This is my take on her final moments and her descent into madness, and suicide.

WARNING: graphic language, suicide etc...

Please enjoy :)

The New World

Blood. I dreameth of blood. I dreameth of this world drowning in an ocean of red liquid. Our enemies, mine enemies, sinking below the surface until they're nothing but a static recollection. In this world, mine own husband standeth atop looking down with high and gl'ry and myself watching on. I thought I liked this world. Where I hadst control ov'r his thoughts and actions like a puppet on strings dancing to the wilt of its master.

Mine husband would not hast hath killed if 't be true t weren't for mine whispering in his ear. If 't be true t wasn't for me, that gent would never beest king, nor I a queen. So wherefore doth I feeleth the ghosts of a sorrowful monarch looming over mine shoulder? Or wherefore doth I hear children's giggles turn to screams as I walketh down the corridors?

As I lay hither in sleep chamber, there is only silence. But those ghosts shall cometh. Those ghost shall. Doest mine own husband suffer so? I gaveth that gent the helping hand, the little push he need to turn his dreams into reality. Macbeth is king, and I… I am scrubbing spots of blood from mine hands like a servant polishing silverware.

I dreameth of a world under mine own control, not his. In mine world, everyone shalt boweth to me as the rightful queen. And if 't be true those gents refuse, so hell shalt breaketh loose. This world of blood, wither I alone standeth as its ruler; whither mine own husband is so oblivious to the power I possess. Is that man so arrogant to see that I am the cause of his triumph?

I despise the world I existeth in. This world whither people scream, "monster, monster," at me. I wanteth a new world. Whither mine own husband is not a fool, and the people doth not scream, and the blood is no longer. I misprise this world and all who dwell within.

Who art these people concluded, be it to decide mine fate? Weak, pathetic peasants who could not hold a grain of sand to the supremacy of mine will. I dreameth of a world whither I can maketh those folk pay. Maketh those folk pay for calling me such a tyrant. Those gents shall see. I wilt maketh those folks see. Then those peasants shall eke drown in the ocean of blood. Blood is mine fuel, mine own fire, and mine enemies art the water trying to extinguish the flames. Duncan, Banquo, Macduff… all fools to tryeth and cease mine own flames of glory.

Mine husband, whom mine loves wavers for is but a recreant – recoiling ere a sight that gent cannot see. I am standing tall now; I see t – the new world shall dawn. "Who is the one standing tall now?" I scream to those who bethink they hast bested me. Only mine quiet sleep chambers replies. In the new world, mine own world, there is no lodging for those folks.

And I wilt chuckle like a mad mistress as those gents beg for mercy – grovelling at mine feet. Those who betrayed me wilt payeth, wilt suffer and tremble with pain and terror. I dreameth of a world whither blood stains the grounds, the earth… mine hands.

No please, not mine own hands. Oh aye, in this world mine hands art tainted. Lief Lord, beest gone spot. Mine hands, stained with blood. Stained with innocence. No. Enemies. Foe who only sought our destruction and demise. Mine husband wanted this. That man wanted beest to be king. I wanted to beest queen. Those enemies stoodeth in his – mine – way.

This is madness. All this blood. Shoo. I hast no time. Beest be gone spot. Cleanse yourself from mine own hands. Wherefore wilt thee not leaveth. Wend now. Ere I remove thee myself. I dreameth of a new world. A fragile world which is slowly shattering under the weight of the blood.

Avaunt. Hide yourself from mine presence. I no longer wish to see thee. Husband, we succeeded, no? Thee becameth king, and I queen. Then who is this monster I see in the reflection. Surly not mine visage staring back. With eyes that doth not see and hands than cannot feeleth. Hands that remain unclean.

Wash hence. Filth, I hath said avaunt.

Fine.

I wilt remove thee faint spot.

My dagger, for the fiends that may come for me in the night, hides beneath my pillow. I shall cut these blemishes away. Spot, shoo. I will rinse mine hands of this blood. I wilt see mine own new world.

Ah, more spots and stains. I wilt remove thee too.

Slash, slash. Blood beest gone.

Ah finally. The blood is gone form mine hands – its stains only the sleep chamber sheets now. I hast no lacking valor conscience anymore. I whispered sweet ideas into mine own husbands ear. That man is the one who murdered those folk and hath left me to crisp the mess. I wilt not crisp thy mess any longer, Husband.

The stains on the sheets groweth – like a river ov'r flooding the banks.

I feeleth faint. Peradventure I wilt close mine own eyes which art heavy with grief. Tis time to catch but a wink.

Peradventure I wilt dreameth of a new world.

Mine own world.

As stated never attempted this type of writing, style, "soliloquy" type of deal. Especially not in Shakespearean language.

Any reviews or comments are more than welcome and so greatly appreciated. Would love to hear what you thought. Or even tips on how to improve :)

Have a great day.