A castle lay beyond the dark misty fog. The lights were off, the silence of death filled the air.
In the castle, the King sat down wearing his crown. The guards stood like statues; the birds were frightened of death.
Lady Macbeth was pacing until Macbeth had done the deed. He came back with red dripping bloody hands, carrying a dagger in each hand. Lady Macbeth reached out to his hands.
“I have done the deed!” muttered Macbeth.
“Ok, but what in the world is that on your hands? Go and wash your filthy hands and go put those daggers back immediately”
“I thought I heard a voice cry.”
“What are you talking about?” Lady Macbeth grabbed his shoulders and shook then angrily.
“The voice kept crying sleep no more. I can’t go back! They will know what I have done.”
“Coward! Give me the daggers.”
Lady Macbeth silently took the daggers and strode out the room to leave the daggers to frame the guards.
The next day, a guard found the dead body on the ground and shouted, “THE KING IS DEAD!”
Everyone was suspicious about who had killed the King, but no one suspected Lady Macbeth and Macbeth.