A/N: A Hamlet fanfic. Rated for dark themes. Thanks.

He...he speaks to me spitefully, as if my worth is is wrought in water. He talks in tones suggesting my insignificance, my understanding, my whoreish nature—too wretch'd to look upon. Slowly, softly, hesitantly, I ask him if he doth love me.

"No."

I ask him if he hath ever lov’d me.

"No."

Something like a faint prickling sensation creeps behind my eyes. They blink, as if of their own accord, as he continues to speak to me. I am certain that I hear him, and yet the words are ashes in the wind...I do not mark him, yet I know he speaks ill of me. I bite my tongue, extinguish the lump in my throat and endeavor to ignore him.

But such the endeavor fails...

The oe'erwhelming desire to ask him of his abhorrent lies, of his hostilities towards me, of his actions, so cold, so cruel, rushes towards my lips, a deluge in its own rights, but I find that I cannot heave my heart into my mouth.

Because I am terrified.

What has become of you, dearest Hamlet? What has become of the man whom I once saw smile at me? My mind wanders into memories past...

He had simply gazed at me, eyes boring through me, examining me closely from heart to the tendrils that did frame my visage. I hath been violated by the sins of the senses once before, though ne’er raped by such standard. Was it truly my Lover then, gazing upon me with such frigid eyes…?

O, his eyes….his chilling, chilling, eyes that hath changed so much from the intriguing affection that I had grown so blithely accustomed to…how misted, how beautiful they seemed before each tender kiss…how they made each one sweeter than the last…the way they would reflect the sunrise each morning after I would share my bed with him.

And yet…the manner in which he sinn’d so poorly…how he had explored me, eyes so glacially intense…it was not my Hamlet behind that wintry stare, behind that darkened, sullen gaze, but a wild animal seeking to sense what fear that I might have…hidden within my breast.

Now, he continues to berate me in deathly quiet tones, and yet I feel as if he were shouting—my heart wrenches. Once again, my eyes blink of their own accord, my chest becomes heavy like a block of ice. His execrations stab at me tirelessly; hot tears roll slowly down my cheeks.

For it is then that realization dawns upon my breadth. It is then, as he chastises me, his eyes cold with malice and accusation, that I realize…I am to blame for his madness.

And I am terrified.

I bite my lip, tasting salty tears and bitter blood as venom continues to drip, drip, drip, from his acidic voice. And it is all my doing…all my doing that he is not whom I knew, not whom I loved.

He leaves me, his rage trailing behind him like tainted incense. At his departure, the curtains rustle with movement behind me.

The King enters.

Father follows.

My insides freeze.

My heart clenches.

My soul empties, barren-spirited.

…I am so very hopelessly alone…

And…I am still terrified.