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Quote from the story/poem here. Mistakes will be in bold and numbered.

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The city beneath the girl was a monochrome.

It spanned from horizon to horizon, grey towers and citizens and streets all competing 1. to be dullest. What their prize would be, the girl didn’t know, but she was certain of one 2. thing: she hated them with all of her heart. She hated their ugliness. She hated their rank, dirty smell. She hated the colourless skyline and the one time she had visited the city’s abandoned port, she had hated that too. Most of all, she supposed, she hated how she was confined to the city simply because there was nowhere else for her to be.

Ceaselessly, the city churned and bustled, rippling as cloaked figures innumerable paced its roads. The city almost seemed alive – some great, leaden beast, forsaken by colour, that wanted nothing more than to swallow her whole – but up here, perched in the sky, Weida Langard was well out of its reach. Except, as her heart and her gut told her, she wasn’t, not truly. Even now, she was seated atop one of its countless ruined towers, 4. legs dangled over nothingness as she surveyed her surroundings. She could climb all she wanted and look down on it forever, but she would never escape her endless grey prison. The city was everywhere and it enveloped all.

Weida threw her head back and sighed. She brushed a lock of hair from her eye and her gaze fell on the pink and purple abyss that was the sky. It was a beautiful sky, resplendent in the light of the setting sun. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, and drank in a mouthful of crisp, clean air. An evening breeze whispered in her ears and tousled her hair. 5I might still be within the city, she decided, but this is at least a respite.

Night fell faster than Weida would have liked. Once moment she was gazing into the distance and the next she was immersed in glum dusk-light. Sighing again, she pulled her legs up and rose. A hundred feet stretched between Weida and the path below but 6. she paid the drop no fear. All that concerned her was the vast world, with none of the city's browns and greys, that she knew to exist – that had to exist – somewhere beyond the city’s walls.

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The climb down was a long one. By the time 1. she touched her feet to the ground, darkness had fully fallen, black and complete. The night air hung icily about and Weida could hear the stirring of some alley cat, but it was difficult to see almost anything.

“Damn me,” she muttered. Day turned to night thick and fast in the city. She should have kept that in mind. How was she to find her way home like this?

“Damn you indeed,” sang a voice from somewhere behind her. Weida gave a start.

“Who’s there?” she said, trying her hardest not to panic. She fought as well as any of the boys her age and better than some, but the darkness was paralysing. Could she have been found by some killer, prowling the streets in search of prey? Murder in the city was thankfully unlikely, it was said, but after dark who could tell?

“It is only I,” said the voice. It was a girl’s, Weida realised, a sweet, singsong voice that sounded of a child. She relaxed, and then frowned.

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“I don’t know you. Do I?”

“No,” the other girl agreed. “You don’t. Do you need any help getting around? I’m rather good at navigating in the dark.”

“No, thank you.” The reply came automatically. To be truthful, Weida would have loved to take the girl’s hand and be led to her home, but she was wiser than that. It was also said that a stranger’s kindness sours quickly, after all.1 “It seems unlikely, but you could turn out to be some killer.” The girl only laughed, a dainty twinkling sound that brought another frown to Weida’s lips.

“I’m no killer, but if you stay around here maybe you will find one. Or worse, some brute who’d have his way with you.” She spoke truthfully. Even if she was part of some crew of outlaws, sent to lure in the unsuspecting, she was still a safer bet than remaining here in the open and the dark, risking mugging or worse.

2. “Please, then,” Weida said, and the other girl touched her with a soft hand. Weida took it, slightly hesitant, but it was warm and almost reassuring.

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“I work at a tavern not far off from here,” the girl said. “Shall we go there for now?” Weida nodded and then, remembering the darkness, made to voice her agreement, but the girl said “Excellent!” and took off, Weida in tow, before she could so much as open her mouth.

They moved briskly and steadily. Weida’s stomach fell with every other step, afraid that she was about to crash into a wall or plunge through some manhole, but the other girl moved breezily, as if the way ahead were as clear as day. And it might as well have been, because they bumped into no one, tripped over neither stones nor plants, 1. walked into no walls. They continued on that way for a while, winding around bends and pacing along roads. As time dragged on, though, Weida began to notice how hard the paving felt against her footfalls and even through her leather turnshoes, how its coldness seemed to reach the way to bone. Even so, she pursed her lips and refused to complain. She was in this other girl’s debt and she wouldn’t weigh her down. Instead, she asked the girl, “What is your name?”

“It’s Lillea,” the girl said brightly, though without turning around. “2. Waitress and Seer. And you?”

“I’m Weida Langard. I’m a merchant’s daughter—Seer?” Weida came to a halt, forcing 3. the other girl – Lillea – to stop as well. “Seer, did you say?” Lillea gave no reply to that, but Weida pressed on, whispering. “You called yourself a Seer, didn’t you? Is that how you see in this darkness? Magic is taboo, you should know that. Would you have the wrath of the King called down upon you – or the gods’?”

“I see things that others don’t,” Lillea murmured through the darkness, and it was obvious to Weida that she was choosing her words tersely, carefully. Her voice had lost its springy edge. “Is that such a crime?” 4. When Weida gave no reply, Lillea said, “Come. Let’s continue on.”

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It was a while longer before they reached their destination. Weida tried to make more conversation but no topic came to mind. She lapsed into silent contemplation for the rest of the way. So the girl was a sorceress. Why would she confess so openly? Every man, woman and child for leagues around, within the city and beyond, knew that to use magic was to condemn yourself to death. It had been that way ever since the mages had touched the sky, five hundred years ago…

1. “We’re there,” said Lillea suddenly, soft in the silence of the night. She came to a halt, Weida after her, and then pushed on a door unseen in the darkness. It creaked open and light spilled out, at once mild and stark, throwing them into relief. Weida saw Lillea for the first time, and blinked in surprise. The girl looked about the same age as Weida, fifteen years give or take a month, but she was pretty beyond belief. Brown hair fell to her waist, framing a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were a clear, penetrating blue. A half-smile danced on red lips, and she was flushed from the cold. Lillea glanced back at her and laughed, though at what Weida didn’t know. “Come on in,” the girl said, beckoning her forward.

The room they stepped into was a simple one, a large common with wooden tables and chairs placed at intervals against its walls. Candles, most half-dead, lit every other, casting pools of angular shadow onto a floor of packed earth. On the far side, a counter bounded a wall of kegs, and behind, a door led to a room beyond. Patronage was meagre, Weida saw; aside from them, there were merely a pair of laughing drunks near the counter, faces flushed with inebriation, and a man cloaked and hooded in black, seated at a table near a corner. Suspicious, she thought as she eyed the man.

A plump waitress stepped out from the door behind the counter and, noticing Lillea, came over to greet them. “It’s past curfew!” she said, her tone equally annoyed and relieved. The Seer girl simply said, “I wanted to take a walk, sister.” 2. So they’re siblings, thought Weida.

“You’re damn lucky the patronage stayed this thin all day. A walk.” The woman sighed and motioned to Weida. “And who is this?”

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“This is Weida. She was lost and it’s past curfew, as you say.”

“I wasn’t lost,” Weida protested, frowning. “I just…lost track of time, and then night fell.”

“Day turns to night thick and fast in the city.” The waitress nodded and extended a hand. “Whichever way, I’m Gertrud. Pleased to meet you.” Weida shook Gertrud’s hand. The woman’s grip was firm. She seemed like a candid person.

“I like the look of you, Weida,” Gertrud said. “The gods know that Lillea needs company her age. Keep close to her, would you? She may just be a waitress girl but she’s special, that one.”

Weida didn’t know what to make of that, so she gave a guarded nod, but Lillea cut in. “You’re embarrassing me, Gertrud. And Weida has her own life to take care of. Her own business.”

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Weida looked between the pair before her. “Actually,” she began cautiously, 1. “my only duty to my merchant father and my family is to be wedded. Hopefully to some other, well-off merchant, or maybe into noblefolk if I’m lucky. That’s my only business. My life.”

Gertrud peered at her. “You’re certainly pretty enough for the part. Not so much as our Lillea here, but you have a good, honest look about you. You could stand to grow your hair a little, though.” Weida felt herself blush and looked away.

One of the drunks called for more ale. Gertrud went to fetch the man his drink and left Lillea and Weida by themselves. “Will you stay here until morning?” the Seer asked her.

“Yes, thanks,” Weida said. She took a seat near the door while Lillea went to fetch drinks. The merchant’s daughter glanced about the room. Her gaze met with the hooded man’s own. His eyes were a pale grey, smoky and mysterious. Something about his stare made her recoil faintly. He gave a single, curt nod and turned away but something was left in Weida, an inexplicable coldness that chilled her, sudden and sharp.

Lillea returned with two mugs of warm buttermilk. “Here,” she said, and Weida took one. “Gertrud’s gone into the back but I’ll tend to anything you need. Go on, drink some.” Weida obliged. The drink filled her with a profound heat. She murmured a word of thanks and pressed her hands to the sides of the mug, grateful for the warmth.

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“How much?” 1. she asked, reaching into her cloak for coins.

“Money?” Lillea waved her hand in dismissal and said, smiling, “You don’t need to pay. Consider it on the house." That caught Weida unawares. 2. She took another sip of her drink

From the corner of her eye, she saw the hooded man rise and make for the exit, cloak trailing black behind him. He passed the pair of them and for a short moment, time seemed to stop. Then a curious urge seized hold of Weida and she shouted a warning at the girl before her, but Lillea was afoot before the man could draw the knife from his cloak. He brought his blade to empty air. Cursing, he propped himself up and slashed again, but Weida overturned the table. It hit the man’s side and sent him crashing into the floor. Quick as she had ever been, Weida hurled over the upturned table and wrestled the knife from the man’s grasp. He flung a fist into her face but she gritted her teeth and brought the blade to his throat.

“Who are you?” 1. she demanded through her teeth. Her face ached terribly where the man had hit her but she ignored it and pressed the knife deeper into the man’s throat. Still he gave no reply.

“He’s a magician-catcher,” Lillea said, from somewhere above her. Her voice was tinged with fear, unlike anything she had shown the other girl all night. Weida was taken aback, at her realisation and her tone, and the black cloak seized the opportunity to kick her off him. He made for his knife but Weida threw herself in the way.

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“Move,” 1. he seethed in gravelly tones. “I want the sorceress, not you.” Weida ignored him and threw a punch to his head. He ducked and made to return the blow, but Weida stepped to the side and flung out her foot. They tussled and tumbled like that, on the floor, on their feet, punching and kicking and jabbing.

“Lillea, don’t just stand there, help!” Weida shouted, as panic began to wrestle her. She allowed herself a brief sideward glance but the Seer girl was standing there motionless, looking on with glazed eyes. The drunks seemed to have ceased their parley and were now watching curiously, though Weida would have preferred that they interfere. Then she spied Gertrud stepping from the backroom with a barrel in hand and sudden hope seized her. The man made to hit her face again but she dodged and, digging her heel into the floor, brought her knee up into the assailant’s gut. He was flung back and landed on the floor, sprawled, at Gertrud’s feet. The waitress stood there for a pause and then slammed the barrel down onto his head.

One of the drunken patrons cheered. The other demanded more ale. Gertrud gave the fallen man a kick and then went to tend the patron’s order. Lillea drew a chair and crumpled onto it. “I guess I owe you an 2. apology first off,” she said. “I’m—”

She rose just as a shriek cut through the tavern. One of the drunks – a burly man with fiery red hair — had caught Gertrud around the shoulders and was holding a sword to her throat. The other, a slouching, lanky youth, was sprinting toward Lillea, short sword in hand, dark eyes full of murder. The Seer ducked and Weida snatched up the black-cloak’s knife, driving it into the man’s stomach as he whirled around. He tried to swat her with his sword but she pulled away and kicked him back. He lay there, blood blossoming into a pool around him. She turned to the man clutching Gertrud.

He slit her throat.

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Lillea fell to the floor, face in hands, and let out a terrible sound, a mixture of anguish and rage irrepressible. Even the red-headed man seemed shocked by what he had done, but Weida had already made her act. She swapped her knife for the short sword and dashed forward. The man recovered just as she was upon him, tossing away Gertrud’s bloodied body, and raised his own sword to parry.

He rained blows down upon Weida, each as fatally heavy as the last, but she threw them all back with flawless precision. The weight of the sword was perfect in her hand; it swept slaughter before her. It cut the air, lithely, unshakeably stalwart. But her opponent was her equal, his weapon hers. Their dance became a brawl as they began to tire; their slashes became jagged hacks. She tried a stab to the man’s chest but he stepped forward and to the side, and instead caught her on the thigh.

By then her wounds were screaming. 1. Just a little longer, she thought with fury in her heart. Just a little more. She had dealt with two men before this one; what was another to her? Between steel blows the man started to deal the flesh kind. Those were impossible for her to block; her age and her strength were making themselves felt. And then, as suddenly as this had all begun, Weida knew that she could take no more. Her blade slipped from her grasp, its murderous comfort fled. She fell back, and a shadow rushed past her.

Weida shuddered and rose. The red-haired man was slumped at the foot of a chair, a knife in his chest. She looked up and saw Lillea heaving, blinking tears. The Seer girl stepped over to Gertrud and clutched her dead sister’s body. Weida watched her uncertainly, but at that moment the first man, the hooded knifeman, began to stir.

“I guess we ought to kill him,” Weida said, but she made no move. For a time there was silence, punctuated only by Lillea’s tortured sobs. The moment continued, though for how long Weida couldn’t tell. Then she reached for the sword and stepped toward her victim.

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1. I actually stole "touched to x" from (or at least discovered it in) A Song of Ice and Fire, but, in hindsight, I agree that it's not an especially necessary pseudo-archaism. Applied.

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1. Though a frown is done with facial muscles and shows in the rest of the face as much as the mouth, I was using Weida's lips as a sort of representative icon. Regarding the overall structure, I was treating the whole of "The reply came automatically. To be truthful, Weida would have loved to take the girl’s hand and be led to her home, but she was wiser than that. It was also said that a stranger’s kindness sours quickly, after all." as a break between two related sections of speech. "Words." Action. "Words.", as in. I believe it's grammatically correct. I may have been pushing the volume and creating clutter, in hindsight, though. Corrections, thoughts?
2. The "then" is meant to make the dialogue more kinetic, so to speak. Weida is acquiescing to a degree, so I thought that a simple "Please" would void her previous wariness.