• A discomfort hath settled in me, like a rat nesting in the darkest corner of my mind. It is a creeping voice, a creature with a snaked tongue calling out to me. It suggests ideas of such a vile nature, that I loathe the sound of its voice. But its ideas, they call to me. They offer release, reprieve; a break from the struggles and woes of everyday life. To end one’s self, it is a blessing and a curse. The bliss of death, gently rocking you back and forth as if it were a breeze, blowing away your discomforts, versus the rejection of God and eternal damnation. My dear, it should be an easy choice to wait for nature to take Her toll, but the end seems so much sweeter by mine own hand…
    Alas, someone may have eavesdropped on my quiet discussion with you. T’was Ophelia, approaching from the hall. She had come to return the gifts I had given her, under pretense of love. With shock, I reacted; though no thought of acting mad entered my mind, mad I still was. I raved about her beauty versus her honesty, and very well told her I didn’t love her. Quickly, I regained a hold of my sanity, but too keep this ploy I had to keep lies flowing between my teeth. In my false rage I told her to join a nunnery, so she may never breed sinners. Women to me, were nothing but liars; turning men into monsters and painting a dishonest face on this earth. She looked at me with pain in her eyes, and away I walked. As I stormed off in apparent rage, I heard her comment on the deteriorating state of my sanity. I have succeeded in what I intended; but to what cost?
    But for this loss, there is a victory! I now have the proof I need to know that Claudius indeed murdered father. In an effort to ease my mind, I was given rights to produce a play. I fashioned it after the events that transpired; the true king, a deceitful brother, and an unfaithful queen. Upon seeing this play, Claudius flew into a rage, yelling about the abhorrence of a brother killing a brother. But it wasn’t disgust that set him off, it was guilt. He stopped the play, perhaps in fear that people would realize my true intentions, and find the parallels to the real events. Even Horatio agrees, my dear. And that is all the evidence we need.

    My sweet, I fear that my madness is all too real. I approached mother today, my words like daggers against her frail constitution. There was fear in her eye, but with it, the look of revelation. She knew the truth of my words, and it shocked her essence. As I assaulted her with words, however, I heard a rustling in the tapestry. I quickly thrust my rapier in it, thinking it was Claudius. Alas, it was Polonius. The blundering fool. My blade was meant for the false king, but instead killed the innocent father of my sweet Ophelia. My rage hath consumed me, and driven me beyond my reason. As his blood dripped down my blade, I knew retribution was near. When I die, I will be sent to the bowels of hell. But fret not, my dear; for I will bring Claudius with me. I will catch him in an act of sin and wrongdoing, and kill him before he can pray for forgiveness.
    But speak softly, someone approaches! I must go now. Until we speak again, my dear.