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Macbeth stands in his lonely castle, peering outside the window as he watches the havoc he had caused. A few nights ago, Lady Macbeth had successfully convinced him into murdering King Duncan, the kindhearted and noble king. Of course, he should've known how solemn the people would become. Looking outside at the flowers laying beside Duncan's deathbed. Luckily for Macbeth and his lady, no one had suspected him to be behind the murder. Everyone thought that the guards who were responsible for protecting King Duncan had murdered him. But that was only because the situation was framed that way. The cunning Lady Macbeth was the mastermind behind the plan, slipping the dagger into one of the guard's hands, wiping it clean of her husband's fingerprints. Ambition had consumed them both, and now they would have to live with that deed. Macbeth's shoulders tensed at the thought of that night, feeling the weight heavier than any armour he ever wore. He turns away from the window, walking to the other side of his dark room in the castle that was once King Duncan's. All of it was his. But at what cost? Macbeth could only stare at himself in the mirror, wondering if these giant clothes that hung loose around him were worthy of being worn by such a dwarfish thief.
"Am I worthy of being dressed in these borrowed robes?" Macbeth whispers to himself in the mirror. Standing as he was, looking at the King's clothes that were too big for him. It all felt wrong. All of it. Was this ambition really worth this much? Such 'simple' actions that have been taken would only disturb the great chain of being, as he would realize in the future...
Then suddenly, Lady Macbeth, as gorgeous as before, strutted into the room, head high like none of this had bothered her one bit.
"Dear, there you go again. Staring at yourself like a poor dog." She complains, seeing her husband's solemn face and those stupid robes that he'd refused to get tailored. Lady Macbeth walks up and grabs his arm, snapping Macbeth out of his thoughts as he finally realized her presence. This only added to her further annoyance. Ever since the death of King Duncan, Macbeth would refuse to come down for supper and even refused meeting important guests. All the work had been handled by Lady Macbeth, and it had been fine for her. But what wasn't fine was the society. Seeing Lady Macbeth all alone, handling all the tasks and playing as a host was weird as men in this time of age were supposed to handle it. Not the women.
Lady Macbeth voices her concerns, and as usual, Macbeth only brushes her off, murmuring a couple of words like "later" or "not tonight".
She couldn't take it anymore. It's not like he was the only one suffering from the murder of King Duncan. She was too. But as any man could, she was able to unsex herself and push those thoughts of good to the back of her mind. Lady Macbeth had asked the spirits that tend on mortal thoughts to take over, and rid her of any guilt. Why couldn't he have done the same? But before Lady Macbeth could lecture him again, a guard entered and informed the two that they had a visitor.
As usual, Macbeth refused to leave his room. Leaving only Lady Macbeth to greet their visitors. She made her way down at her own pace, not having to hurry as she was now the queen.
To her surprise, three ladies in ragged, dustly black cloaks awaited at the door. She recognized them from Macbeth, he told her before that he had met these three women when they told him the prophecy. She assumed good news now, since they had completed the deed. However, the witches' faces only looked of worry and concern. Lady Macbeth urges them quickly to tell her what was wrong, but they only spoke in riddles, confusing her even more of their meaning. "Tonight, a dear friend of Macbeth's will come to take his place. Hurry, you must seal the prophecy. But your sweet hands shall not be dirtied once more".
Before she could ask what they meant, a cloud of smoke exploded out of nowhere, catching her off guard as she coughs violently. As the dust cleared, Lady Macbeth swats the smoke away quickly with her hands. Only to find that they had disappeared.
Dumbfounded, Lady Macbeth shut the door and immediately went to pace in the hallway. Biting her lip as she thought hard about what the witches meant. And when she realized, she ran directly to Macbeth's chambers.