At some point of the story, the mind of the perfectionist decided it was about time to make something perfect. He locked himself up in a tiny room, with only one bare beam of light illuminating his project.
The perfectionist started to think, as thought, he thought, was the only possible way to attain perfection. Sitting in a blue chair, alone, the perfectionist started to think more and more.
At some point of the story, he started, without even noticing, to think in circles. Those circles, big at the beginning, started to get more and more and narrow.
At some point of the story, the perfectionist thought it was time to get his hands busy with what, he thought, was perfection.
He could never give life to his perfect invention, so he decided never to get out of his little room.
When somebody, at some point of the story, opened the perfectionist's door, he could only notice how the room was filled with light, but nothing more.