Novels by Perfect Pen

There is a room at the edge of all endings.Not grand, not glowing, not wrapped in prophecy or encased in myth. It is quieter than silence. Smaller than memory. It smells of paper warmed by sunlight, and dreams that never asked to be written down.It is yours.It is called the Reader’s Room.There is no door, yet you enter. Not with footsteps, but with presence. With the hush of one who realizes something profound is about to endbut has also just begun.The room is lined with echoes.Not of wordsbut of you.Moments glimmer faintly along the walls. You see the breath you held when Kael stood at the brink of forgetting. The tear that never reached your cheek when Riva whispered goodbye to her former name. The warmth that moved through your chest when Aurea sang to a book that had never been read. The soft, impossible awe when Soryel first wondered aloud, “What is a story?”And thereagainst the far wallyou see the time you flipped back a page. Not to check, but to feel again. That moment

It opened not with words, but with warmth.The Book of Forever, ancient yet newly born, unfurled in silence deeper than language. No ink bled across the vellum. No titles, no chapters, no dialogue, no footnotes of the past. Instead, it breathed.Each page was a pulse, a faint thrum beneath the fingertips of those gathered. A heartbeat that did not echo from itselfbut from them. From the ones who had lived, wept, doubted, dreamed.Inside was not contentbut connection.Soryel, eyes wide, hand still resting on the warm skin of the book, felt not storiesbut sensations. A sigh under a blanket at midnight. A page turned with trembling fingers. A smile between tears as hope flickered back. A gasp when a truth struck too deep.The book was not remembering what it was. It was remembering who had held it.And so it remembered you.It remembered the nights you promised just one more chapter, and kept your promise only with sunrise.It remembered the moments you closed its cover not because the s

He walked not upon ground, but between definitions.Kael found himself in a realm where the world did not end, because it had not yet agreed to begin. It was a place not of story, but of the possibility of storya pale world inked only with the margins of unwritten thoughts, each footstep brushing against the hush before language. No sky greeted him. No soil embraced him. Above, below, aroundonly pale parchment that curved inward forever, a vast cathedral of potential. The air smelt faintly of unvoiced questions, and every echo carried the hush of a reader holding their breath, not to listenbut to allow.Margins, endless and recursive, ruled here. Margins where footnotes once dreamed of being chapters. Margins where the discarded became threshold. Margins where a comma’s curl might house an entire forgotten world.And in that world of spectral syntax, Kael wandered.He did not walk with certainty, for such a thing had long abandoned him. He walked with breath. And each breath became in

The skies did not darken in warning. There was no thunder to herald the fall. Only stillnessso absolute, so quietly woven through breath and branchthat even the whispers of possibility seemed to hold their tongues.And then, the rain began.It did not fall like water. It fell like memory re-shaped as light. Each droplet a prism of unchosen lives, each splash a ripple of futures almost dared. The air tasted of stories that had once knocked against the ribs of time but were turned away by fear, duty, silence. Dreams unborn. Songs that flickered at the edge of sleep and dissolved with waking. Hands never held. Truths never spoken. Lives unlived.And yet, in this garden grown not from narrative but from the marrow of belief, every droplet found root.Pamela appeared first. Not as a specter nor a memory, but as herselfno longer searching for who she had been, but arriving fully as who she had chosen not to become. She stepped beneath the silvered fall, carrying an umbrella spun from negati

It began with stillnessnot the stillness of death, nor the hush of waiting, but a silence so alive it pulsed like breath held in wonder. The Book of Forever had closed itself with the tenderness of an old friend who knows when to let go. And in that sacred pausebetween the breath out and the next one ina world emerged.No ink had summoned it. No prophecy had etched its edges. No architect of realm nor map of intent had shaped it. It rose, simply, gently, because it had not been forbidden. Because someone, somewhereperhaps a Reader, perhaps a dreambelieved there might still be more.So the Unwritten Garden grew.Not out of earth. Not even from time. But from the cracks between words. From the gaps between moments. From the hollows of hearts that had once whispered, What if there’s more? Its sky was not painted with stars but with glimmers of stories that had never made it to page. Its wind carried no scent, and yet every inhalation brought the ache of childhood memories you were never

It began, not with ink, but with a breath so soft it could have been a sighor the silence left behind after someone almost said I remember you. The Book of Forever rested open, its final page no longer blank, but expectant. Not filled, not writtenbut humming with the ache of what could now be said.Soryel stood before it, no longer a child, no longer the Future Reader, no longer the one who held questions like fragile lanterns in the night. They had spoken many namesKael, Selene, Riva, Pamela, Aureaand each had become a constellation of meaning. But now, Soryel closed their eyes and invented one. Not from memory. Not from ancestry. Not even from wonder. But from the future itself.A name never uttered before, shaped not by the past, but by the vast and unclaimed territory of what might yet be felt. The name rang out not in sound, but in permission.And the page… accepted it.Not with ink. Not with letters. But with light. A light not golden, not celestial, not radiantbut tender. It bl

Morning didn’t creep into the city. It exploded.By the time Jason opened his eyes, his face was everywhere. News anchors, bloggers, influencers—everyone was dissecting the grainy police footage. The video was shaky, but the golden glow was unmistakable. Jason Carter—once the most despised son-in-law in Chicago—was now something else entirely.On a massive flat-screen in Bill’s living room, a young anchor’s voice filled the air:“Viewers, this is bodycam footage from last night’s incident in Southside Chicago. The unidentified man—confirmed by some as Jason Carter—appears to emit light from his skin while confronting known gang members. Authorities are investigating whether this was an act of vigilantism or something more dangerous.”The screen cut to another commentator, a woman in a red blazer:“We’re looking at either cutting-edge tech or something supernatural. Either way, Jason Carter is no hero. This is the same man accused of killing his unborn child. Are we ready to hand him t

Jason’s body hit the cold pavement, but his mind was nowhere near Chicago.The world shattered around him.Flashes—blinding, endless—exploded in his skull. He stood not in an alley, but on a battlefield drowned in fire. His armor gleamed obsidian-black, etched with golden runes that pulsed like living veins. Before him, an army of mortals knelt, trembling. Behind him, gods with radiant halos sneered, their blades dripping with betrayal.A voice thundered in his head. “Ar-Zekar, Judge of the Ages! You’ve grown arrogant. You punish as if you alone hold truth.”Jason—no, Ar-Zekar—snarled back. “I did not crown myself judge. Humanity’s cries did. Their suffering demanded justice.”The gods’ eyes glowed. “Then justice is your chain. And chains break gods.”He remembered—blades piercing his back, light tearing him apart, his body falling through eternity until it landed in a weaker shell: Jason Carter.Jason gasped, jerking awake in the alley. His skin glowed faintly gold, cracks of light c

Brandon’s clap echoed like mockery in the night air. He strolled into the lantern light, suit jacket undone, tie loose, smirk carved across his face.“Well, well,” he drawled. “The rejected mutt comes crawling back to the garden. Tell me, Jason, do you ever get tired of embarrassing yourself?”Jason didn’t move. His eyes narrowed, his hands still curled loosely at his sides. “Careful, Brandon. You almost sound brave when you’ve got an audience.”Emily stepped between them quickly. “Stop this. Both of you.”Brandon ignored her, his smirk widening. “Oh, I’m just getting started.” His eyes flicked to Emily’s trembling hands pressed against her stomach. His smile turned cruel. “Funny thing about miscarriages… they tend to leave scars. But you, dear sister, don’t look very broken at all.”Emily stiffened, her lips parting in panic.Jason’s heart slammed. He took a step forward, his voice a whip. “What do you know?”Brandon’s gaze glittered with malice. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe

The night pressed heavy around the Lee mansion, its garden lit by lanterns that glowed like pale moons. Jason stood on the gravel path, hands shoved into his pockets, every muscle taut with the storm he carried inside him. He’d rehearsed a thousand things to say, but the moment he saw her, all the words dried up.Emily.She stood under the arch of roses, her hair spilling down her shoulders, her silk dress clinging to her frame as though even the fabric feared letting her go. Her eyes found his—and the ache in them was sharper than any insult he had endured in this cursed family.Her lips trembled before she spoke. “You shouldn’t be here, Jason.”Jason gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, I keep hearing that. Funny thing, though—this place owes me more than it owes any of them.”Emily crossed her arms, as if bracing against him. “Please, don’t start—”“I’m not starting.” He stepped closer, the crunch of gravel punctuating his words. “I’m finishing. Tell me one thing, Emily. Just one.”Her

The Lee mansion was suffocating that night. The golden lights made the marble gleam, but it couldn’t hide the stink of fury in the air.Brandon slammed a crystal glass against the wall, shards scattering like diamonds. “He humiliated me! In front of investors, in front of the goddamn world!”Mr. Lee stood from his leather armchair. His hand cracked across Brandon’s cheek before the rant could go any further.“You fool!” Mr. Lee’s voice boomed, deep and merciless. “You let that bastard turn the boardroom into a circus. Do you know how much money is at stake?”Brandon clutched his face, stunned. “You think this is my fault? He came with fake papers—”“Shut up!” Mr. Lee’s spit flew as he shouted. “If you weren’t sloppy, if you weren’t busy parading women and wasting money, he would’ve had nothing to use against you!”Brandon’s teeth ground together. “So now you’re taking his side? Jason, the stray dog you picked up for Emily?”From the corner of the room, Mrs. Lee spoke for the first tim

The room smelled of expensive whiskey and smug arrogance. Crystal glasses clinked, laughter buzzed, and polished shoes tapped softly against the marble floor. The investors—men and women with shark-like eyes were already bored before Jason even opened his mouth.A man with a silver beard muttered just loud enough to be heard. “Did someone invite the janitor to pitch?”Jason’s lips quirked. He set down his battered leather folder at the head of the glossy black table. “Funny,” he said, voice smooth. “Janitors usually clean up the mess. Which is exactly what I’m here to do tonight.”The laughter died down.He flipped the folder open, sliding a set of documents forward. Pages whispered against the wood, exposing Brandon Lee’s sins in neat black and white.“Wire transfers. Shell companies. Offshore accounts. Millions funneled out of your funds into Brandon’s pockets. Pretty messy for someone claiming to build the next trillion-dollar empire.”A woman in a sapphire blazer leaned closer, na