Anne Pengelly writes fantasy stories steeped in lore, layered with emotion, and occasionally blasted with glitter. When she’s not wrangling ancient relics and epic destinies on the page, she’s fending off garden snails, training her bonsai (gently), and trying to convince her dog and cat to peacefully co-exist (unsuccessfully).
Her days are a mix of hard Pilates, soft jumpers, and a firm belief that coffee and Prosecco both count as writing fuel. She’s currently learning Spanish for an upcoming family wedding. She knows lots of words but can never remember them when it counts. Anne is contemplating the perfect flowering tree to plant beside a newly claimed white wall. There will be petals. There will be drama.
Her books feature magic with consequence, characters with heart, and a strong dislike of collars (unless worn by cats—reluctantly). Of course the occasional laugh in the dark. Her writing blends epic stakes with found family, dry wit, and the kind of characters who’d fight ancient gods before finishing their tea.
Anne Pengelly writes fantasy stories steeped in lore, layered with emotion, and occasionally blasted with glitter. When she’s not wrangling ancient relics and epic destinies on the page, she’s fending off garden snails, training her bonsai (gently), and trying to convince her dog and cat to peacefully co-exist (unsuccessfully).
Her days are a mix of hard Pilates, soft jumpers, and a firm belief that coffee and Prosecco both count as writing...
In a world once saved by gods born of desperate prayer, ancient seals bind a vengeful power beneath the earth. But now the first has begun to break—and something long forgotten is stirring.
In the quiet village of Fenward, twelve-year-old Weylin lives a simple life: helping his...
Blood & Bond Book Two of The Outerlands Trilogy The seals are weakening. The Weave is fraying. And the Threadkeeper has only just begun to understand what he is. Weylin never asked for this. He never wanted the weight of prophecy, the burden of power, or the eyes of gods—old and new—upon him. But fate is rarely kind to those who carry threads...
The Red Church does not forgive. It records. In a world where magic is bound by debt and every spell must be paid in blood, the Red Church governs with ledgers and leeches, masks and mercy measured in drops. To cast is to owe. To refuse is to vanish. The Veil watches all. Nyxa Reddane was meant to disappear....
