The wind screamed through the trees; the mist hugged the castle like there was nothing behind. Suddenly, the rain lashed down; the thunder roared like a lion and the lighting struck. The castle stood strong against the storm. Devastated, Macbeth entered the luxury private castle room with guilt etched on his face. Staring down at his bloodstained hands, he cried.
“This is a sorry sight!”
“A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight,” hissed Lady Macbeth.
“Go get some water, and wash this filthy witness from your hands, and why did you bring though daggers back to this place?”
Macbeth replied nervously, “I’ll go no more, I’m afraid of what I’ve done I dare not.”
At that moment, the draft running through the castle caused the colossal creaky door to slam shut, blowing the dim candles out.
“Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead are silent as pictures.”
Lady Macbeth snatched the daggers out of Macbeth’s hands.
“Infirm of purpose!” shouted Lady Macbeth.
Her dress tagged along he as her black shoes echoed down the gloomy hallway.