My unearthed paranoia is never ending. I can't walk down the hallways of this castle without feeling intensely claustrophobic, as though the walls themselves grow nearer trying to swallow me whole. My hands have betrayed me as I have betrayed myself. They quake and tremble through my grasp and mutiny'd my control over them. Food tastes like blood. I sleep only later to be awakened by the long echoes of my own shrieking.

This crown that I now wear -- that I stole, overencumbers my entire being. It weighs heavily upon my mind, my heart and my soul. I feel crushed under this burden I have bestowed upon myself.

The king is dead, and so shall all my remorse and innocense perish with him.

-Macbeth