She lay awake dreaming. The voices of her dream echoed from the corners of her bedroom, their words mangled by hateful shadows of her woe. The mob of voices accused her, demanding that she be put on trial for crimes she never committed.
"I am not at fault!" she whispered, clutching the bedspread. The voices paid no heed.
She stumbled out of bed and hurried into her nightgown, then took the candle from her nightstand and thrust it before her. The voices receded but raged on, shrieking their accusations. She unlocked the top drawer of her desk and blindly snatched a pen and paper.
This is our night of triumph, she scribbled madly, and also the night our souls crumble to dust. Even from this room I fancy I hear Duncan's screams as my husband carries out my will. Mercy, mercy, who shall forgive us this murder? I never imagined my knife would see the wound it made and the heavens would roar "Hold!" Alas, I asked to be unsexed but remained a woman, only supposing I was not. Hark, Macbeth's footsteps fast approach, dripping with blood not his own. I must meet him and assure myself he has made no blunders in this unnatural crime.
Before the ink was dry, she folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope, scrawling Lady Macbeth: Inverness on the upper left corner. Then she strode to the hearth and dropped it among the glowing cinders. "Water," she murmured, rubbing her hands fervently, but the blood would not wash off. Behind her, the crowd jeered.
"Out, damned spot! out, I say!" she cried. "What, 'tis you, Macbeth? Fie! What have you to fear? You feared Macduff, so you slaughtered his family. Will my hands never be clean o' this folly? The smell of blood lingers: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand."
She heard men's voices, outside the door, suspicious, anguished, stunned. They knocked. "Hurry, Macbeth!" she hissed. "Banquo's buried, he cannot reach you here. No one is left that can hurt us. Come, give me your hand. To bed!" And she crawled miserably under the covers, cupping her hands over her ears.
"I am guilty of nothing!" she whispered. The voices clamored for her lynching.
