What do I see? Not a queen. Not a monster. Just a woman who loved her husband so much she unlearned every soft thing she was born with. And for what? He is a tyrant now, and he does not even look at me. He sends for the doctor, not for his wife. He plans his battles, not our future. I have become a footnote in my own catastrophe.
Then the sleepwalking began.
Give me the light. Give me the dark. Give me back the woman I killed to become this hollow, walking ghost. Lady Macbeth
“What do you mean?” I said. “A little water clears us of this deed.” What do I see
Out, I say.