The Perfect Spiral Novels & Stories

I followed wordlessly behind Bishop as we walked through the beautiful modern and masculine apartment. I could tell that it was a penthouse because it had the best view of the city that we were in. Everywhere I looked, there was a view of the night life. It was truly beautiful and such a breath of fresh air from the warehouse that I was kept at just a few hours ago. I felt small compared to his figure. He was taller than Oden but Oden was built more muscular than him.

"To get here. To finish this. You cannot understand what it is like to be empty for so long. To have a hole inside you that nothing can fill. Until now." She looked at the spiral with something like love. "This will fill me. Your power. Your bond. It will make me whole." "No," I said. "It will make you a copy. A hollow copy of something real." "Then teach me to be real," she said. "Show me. Let me in." The spiral reached for us. Not with hands. With hunger. A pulling, sucking hunger that grabbed at the thin thread of our bond and tugged. I felt my connection to Noah stretch. I felt my connection to Neal thin. The spiral was trying to pull our fused power out of us, strand by strand.

The spiral was now fully exposed, its grooves glowing faintly not silver like the Pact’s traditions, but a deep violet, pulsing like a quiet breath. Jaryth circled it slowly, sketching the pattern in a clean page of his journal. “It’s growing,” he whispered. “No,” Siran said. “It’s remembering itself.” She stood still at the edge of the spiral, eyes wide but unreadable. Her hands ached, not from overuse, but from something she could only describe as magnetic pain a pull from within, like her veins were tuning to the field’s forgotten resonance. In the distance, a breeze passed over the ridgeline.

Dear Reader Thank you for reading the first chapter of the book called, My Perfect Mess. My Perfect Mess was originally written as an Interactive Story Game. I am in the process of adapting it into a novel form. The original version contains a great deal of dialogue to fit the platform for which it was intended. Though you can enjoy the story in its interactive format too as currently published. (eg when Becca speaks, the format will be as this: Becca ~ “What is there to explain, Matt.”)

She hid back and thought, If no one is with him, then it must be the 'Spirala. Spirala was a kind of magical communication where one drew spiral lines at the lower nape of their necks to call out for the person they wanted to communicate with. After each line, there was always a unique sign for each person. Only aristocrats and royals could use this type of magic. It was no surprise that Karras could use it because he was the son of one of the noble families in Baltras.

On it: You don't need to speak to be heard. --- 11:55 PM — Sector K, Final Spiral Terrace A terrace curved upward in a gentle spiral, steps illuminated by grainlights embedded within—residue of the harvest turned into luminescent tiles. The spiral did not end in a vista. It merely re-curled on itself. Elira gained the top and gazed downward—not at height, but depth. The journey was the destination. To climb without requiring a rise. Caelan followed her to the top, a little winded. "No peak," he commented.

Together they begin plotting the relic thefts on a map of Raven Hollow. Pushpins mark each location. A red string connects them. At first, the pattern appears random. Then Evelyn notices something unusual. The thefts form a spiral. In old magic, the spiral is never just a shape; it is a channel, designed to draw energy inward and concentrate it at the heart. Spirals symbolize cycles, protection, and the gathering of power from the outermost edge toward a single, vital point. Here, the pattern is deliberate, a method to funnel whatever energy is unleashed straight into one place.

He stood alone with the painting. The spirals seemed to breathe in the failing light, the single stroke creating the illusion of movement, of two things orbiting each other in careful proximity. It was beautiful. It was honest. It was them—separate but connected, individual but aware, maintaining their own integrity while acknowledging their mutual gravity. He added one golden dot—centered between the spirals.

Bones. Scattered, broken, bleached and stained. Big ones. Small ones. Crushed. Cracked. Some still with tufts of fur. All of them arranged in a spiral—tight, purposeful, like a child’s drawing of a whirlpool. Like a map. Or a summoning circle. Kaela’s stomach twisted. “This isn’t a den.” “No,” Lira said. “It’s a message.” Kaela stepped closer, careful not to disturb the spiral. Her foot brushed something that snapped like old glass. She didn’t look down to see what it was.

Skyla The safe house felt alive that night, humming with a low vibration that made the walls groan and the light bulbs flicker as if even the air itself knew something irreversible was about to happen. Taylor sat in the middle of it all, wires tangled around her legs, screens cracked and sparking like broken mirrors, her fingers a blur across the keys. She looked too small for the storm she was unleashing, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. “Almost there,” she muttered, eyes locked on the code spilling across the monitors. “Ramos’s slick, but arrogance makes people sloppy. He left a back door open.”