Entry #2

We have done the deed- a bloody deed- but a necessary one. Inwardly, I feel a flicker of fear, but I must suppress it. Being caught with stained hands and hearts is not an option that I wish to explore. The future is at a hand, along with our greatest hour, and such things must be pushed back to the deepest recesses of my mind.

My mind often turns to Duncan. Had he not resembled my father as he slept, I had done't; I would have killed him, instead employing my Macbeth. He faltered and was deeply troubled. I do worry for him, but that is something that he must never come to be aware of. My potent tongue, for I know it is, must be used to comfort him. Although this may be true, he does often instill in me a great frustration. Wherefore does he let his weakness of will take over his hand? This phenomenon is foreign to me. We are very different beings. Never before have I known a man whom I can love so much, but shows so much dependency upon someone. A woman no less!

When Macbeth and I retired for the evening, I immediately succumbed to sleep, but I know that he did not and the reason does not escape me. Alas, I mustn't toil here much longer; boding on such thoughts will not grace me with any benefits. As I have said, the future is the direction that we must point ourselves in.