From the shattered ribs of Caesar to the frozen heath of Scotland, from the poisoned ear of Elsinore to the mutinous shores of Rome—Shakespeare knew what lay beneath the tapestry of power.
He asked the question we avoid: What happens to the soul after the blade does its work?
Read him as horror. You’ll never go back.
“Give me a bowl of blood. I have lost my crown.” — Cymbeline (paraphrased)