I'm offering 98 points - plz

i'm a bit unsure of what to add/change about my soliloquy. it's for macbeth, specifically act 5, scene 1 - lady macbeth, sleepwalking scene (from the perspective of the doctor).

here's the draft:
the doctor in act 5 of macbeth after lady macbeth’s sleepwalking incident – max. 3 minutes
it’s been terribly busy. ever since the devil’s spawn decided to make the scottish his doom and country his “discordous” den. wives are missing, lords are disappearing. the sick are dying before i get paid – it may might as well be hell.
i had been called to the castle, a fever dream it would’ve been to see him near to death. but to my dismay it was only his dear dame.
the gentlewoman had urged me to stay for 2 nights to observe of her “unusual sleeping practices”.
it was late at night, i waited outside of her room accompanied by the woman – a knock disturbs the silence. a ghost appeared at the wind-blown doorway, giving me a fright – the gentlewoman informed me that it was in fact the lady.
her eyes, were misplaced, elsewhere, wavering – void to her surroundings, lost. and her hands they were marked dry, shaky, frail. like silk gloves only heaven knew what was underneath. she spoke in gasping whispers that desperately threatened the flaming heart.
conditions such as these covers underlying stresses and anxieties but what is a queen to worry about?
*noting, listening*
an accomplice? the murder of king duncan? macduff’s young wife? i hear this yet i’m of no surprise, only disturbance. no sane man can do this, the crown’s in over his head.
the heart’s been dowsed by dirty blood to the size of a mere flame like the wisp that flickers upon the candle she holds. with no one to share the fire she is sure to burn out… such conditions ought to have been noticed, she is the queen – a good husband would care. but i guess and forget he is not.
a disease seeps and creeps under each peoples’ skin, under their mind and in their hearts – the type to sicken the good man in his grave.
he hath given the lady the apple, her being unaware that it was poisonous. i see now he treats all like a tool – disposed of, only she, baring the consequences. actions atrocious! something must be done!
though i be a fool to reckon with the devil, playing lives with his juggling hand. where the soul lies is on top of clouds that only some can reach or below where fires burn mortal hands.
the mare is in grave need of proper rest, may she find day in the end…
i realise this is too grand of a scheme for me to interfere. against forces, i surrender and do as i’m supposed to and take leave elsewhere, for that is all i can do in my power.