I am afraid much time has passed and I am at a loss of where to begin. How can I possibly relay all of what has felt like a lifetime going by in these last weeks?
Macbeth and I rule Scotland. We were crowned King and Queen shortly after Duncan's death, finally in our rightful place on the throne. The crown atop my head is a ring of not just authority, but immortality. Its weight has snuffed out the bothersome flame that called me again and again to revisit my deeds that fateful night.
I continue to fear for my husband and his pitiful behaviour. In our time as rulers he has been plagued by paranoia. I am capable of nothing that will rid him of this panic that we will lose the throne as soon as we have attained it. Macbeth does not sleep, he rarely eats, and often becomes delirious. Accosted by his alleged hallucinations of daggers and kings, it is all I can do to keep these events from being detected. We cannot afford any instilment of doubt in our court (speaking of court, we have reason to believe Macduff is avoiding it). When he is not out of his mind, he is almost violent in his desire to keep what I made him achieve for us. I do not understand how he is starved for a power he already possesses thanks to my design.
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