Life gets worse for me day by day, as the thought of Duncan’s murder haunts me more and more. Death would be better than the living hell I am going through right now. A crime my husband has committed, yet I face the pain? How is this in any way fair, for I have done nothing but claim the position as Queen of Scotland? “Yet here’s a spot. Out damn’d spot! Out, I say!” Duncan has been removed from his throne, but this blood will never leave my hand, “for all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand”. The reward of being Queen isn’t as grand as the mistake I have made. My eyes open when I sleep, as red as Duncan’s warm blood, waiting for the day I shall live life normally, as queen of Scotland. I wonder why I came from my mother’s womb without male traits, for now I am a beast, hidden in a woman’s body. “Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, and fill me from the crown to the toe topful of direst cruelty!” The death of one haunts me until my death, and being Queen is my punishment for this royal assassination. I mustn’t die by one’s hand, unless that hand is owned by my beloved Macbeth. My desire to become Queen was “A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.” I came to this world as a peasant, and today I leave as Queen of Scotland.
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