Lady Macbeth sleeps soundly after the thing is done; kings, to her thinking, make better bedmates than thanes, even kings with damp kilts and delusions of cutlery.
And the stench of another man's blood on his arms follows her into her dreaming.
There, she meets a woman, whose breath, dreamed, is warm with waking blood's tang. Breath like a sword held
(
Read more... )