Edits on Myopia

Your story is remarkable. If you rectify your Equish errors, it will attain excellence.

Here I have copied down sentences containing grammatical errors.

The silhouettes of those bare branches which stood unmoving against the dim sky. Hidden by the black it would of been brown, a rich hue bared fruit.

The pen rested between his fingers, its tip hovering just above the page, he couldn’t bring himself to put it back down after writing some sentences that didn’t feel.

Neither any words would come to his mind.

familiar those palettes, grounding him.

contemplative, expectant.

 not wanting the door to creak just an ever audible [?] higher then it should have.

The dim light from the window traced along his face, a quiet tension which rested in his brow, the tiredness behind his sully eyes, the sincerity that had no way of hiding behind a shawl of iris. Her expression shifted into recognition at this witnessing.

The dim light from the window traced along his face, a quiet tension which rested in his brow, the tiredness behind his sully [wrong word? Sullied? But he doesn't seem tainted...] eyes, the sincerity that had no way of hiding behind a shawl of iris [beautiful]. Her expression shifted into recognition at this witnessing.

There was no grandness in how he said it. That was just the truth. [You alternate between highly poetic depiction and clear, concise thought. It is excellent.]

“The things they say…” he continued, voice tightening for a moment. “That it’s wrong. That something like this—” his hand gestured softly between them, “—shouldn’t exist. That love like ours is a mistake against the World [why capitalized?].”

“They cant [can't] feel you as a reminder of the edenic [capitalize] state." [h]e said.

“There’s something in you—in your kindness, your curiosity, the way you care—it’s like… it’s like—like seeing what we were meant to be, before we forgot. Before we rebelled.” His voice dropped, but {stronger came of this time} [came stronger this time?]. “You carry that. Not perfectly—not untouched—but you truly carry that—wisdom.”

Her heart fluttered[.] each word had to settle into herself again and again [connection unclear] to these utterances she hadn’t known she needed to hear. She saw him as he always wanted [to] be. truly and finally speaking. [??]

“Preserved… somewhere deep in us,” he murmured, “like a memory we can’t quite name… an echo of what we were meant to be. A secret recess. The sophianicity [lovely phrase, but I could not find this word] in the soul… that knowing of beauty, of wisdom… of when we come home.”

All she was now was feeling it. [???]

“What could have been colors expressed by them… what could have been seen by them… is hidden by their darkness,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It has become {as equal} [???] living beings. A new and unified whole that has been seen.”

...like Beatrice in The Divine Comedy... [GREAT REFERENCE, ABSOLUTELY PERFECTLY PLACED]!

She simply looked at him. She completely present and enamored to her fullest, mareist potential.

He shifted gently, moving the sheets aside before guiding her onto the bed with care. As he lifted her, her wings fluttered out instinctively for a brief moment letting out a small, surprised snort before she settled again, a quiet{,} amusement escaping that equine form.