Crossover with Kafka's The Metamorphosis

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in Duncan’s bed into a gigantic insect.

What has happened to me? he thought. It was no dream. The room, a sparsely-furnished but regal room -- Duncan was king of Scotland -- was filled to overflowing with people wearing white venetian masks. A full-length mirror stood off to one side, and in front of it a chair. Seated in the chair sat an elderly man, slightly rotund, wearing a pair of thick glasses, a green and red sweater covered in frolicking reindeers, and his white mask upon his balding head.

I wish that one would put his mask back on, thought Gregor. He is weirding me out. Why won’t he put his mask on like the others? It’s really taking me out of the moment. It’s making me even more uncomfortable than having been transformed into a gigantic insect, which is a very uncomfortable thing in its own right. Also, that sweater. What is with that sweater? Ugh, it makes me cringe.

He gave a little shudder.

Suddenly through the door crept Macbeth, skulking into the room in his white tanktop and black pajama pants. The sea of white masks parted as people fell into each other and stepped on each other in their rush to get out of his way. “Sorry,” they mumbled. The old man in the chair itched his balding head underneath the mask and adjusted his glasses.

Macbeth walked quickly to the side of the bed, his eyes fixed menacingly, balefully, on Gregor’s tiny insect head and domelike brown belly. Gregor, lying on his hard, armor-plated back, waved his little legs pitifully. Macbeth leapt up upon the bed in one swift motion, then slowly knelt down beside Gregor to take a pillow into his hands.

Oh no, thought Gregor.