Note for those unfamiliar with the novels: After GhoulSpawn’s death/murder, Quaraun cast aside his Pink Necromancer identity, becoming the mute Grand High Emperor, known as SunTa, builder of The Twighlight Manor, before going gathering up his twin son King Vielder and Melaca, and on a time travelling global serial killing spree beheading everyone in the past connected to GhoulSpawn’s death, bringing about The Battle of Ongadada, which caused the comet to crash into the moon, bringing about the ice age. Upon the realization that it was he himself who caused the ice age, an event that would ultimately lead to GhoulSpawn’s death, he shut himself away in the attack of The Twighlight Manor, surrounding himself with the heads of the thousands he’d murdered, and went insane, thus why historians later would call him: Quaraun the Insane. This story is set during the time when he was locked in the Manor’s attic.

The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane - A Pink Necromancer Short Fiction Story 

Series Trigger Warnings:

 * Polyamorous married gay couple and their live-in lover

 * Intersex main character, who lives as a trans man

 * Furry Yaoi 

 * Characters often drink, swear, use drugs, and smoke hookahs.

 * Transman Mpreg

Not all things appear in all stories. 

Series Heat Level:

 * Short Stories: Sweet, Fluffy, Lime, or Limon

 * Novellas: Lime, Limon, Orange

 * Novels: Orange, Lemon

What is the series about?

It's three god-level, planet destroying, alien invader Space Elf, Space Faerie, Space Demon megalomaniac super villain bumbling wizards, and their ship's crew (The UnSeelie Court) with big global domination plans, whom have invaded 40th century Earth, settled in a lighthouse in Maine, started a zombie apocalypse, are hellbent on destroying all Humans and taking over the planet, but are never getting anything done because they are too busy throwing temper tantrums, having hissy fits, and flinging food, sea slugs, insults, and sexual tension at each other, to ever get around to destroying the planet.

It's slice-of-life survival horror in a post-apocalyptic necromantic dictatorship, told through dysfunctional domestic intimacy between soul-stealing villains who rule the world. Welcome to the spiralling madness of Quaraun’s eldritch, sensory-heavy, character-driven, neurotic, dysfunctional, intimate, sugar-dusted Fae-punk world. This is the hostile, dystopian, necromantic, and hyper-sensory domestic horror of Quaraun’s everyday life with BoomFuzzy (and sometimes GhoulSpawn), in a grim world ruled by undead Faerie warlords where society has collapsed and survival is brutal, intimate, and corrupt, and Humans are often on the menu of UnSeelie Court feasts.

Seen in image: 

- IMAGE 1: The Pink Necromancer, Thullid Infested Moon Elf silk weaver, travelling merchant, & Royal Court Mage of The UnSeelie Court: Quaraun Swanzen on Noodle Beach. With his unhinged temper, his 12 foot long prehensile, venomous jellyfish tentacle hair, his deadly laser wand, and his inability to stay sober long enough to cast a spell properly, he is the most feared being in the known universe. Quaraun is literally a Space JellyFish (A Thullid) whom has taken control of the corpse of a dead Elf.

In the year 2525, a comet struck the Moon. Now, in 40th century Maine, Earth is frozen, the Moon is fractured, and UnDead Lobsters are a serious problem. And then there's Quaraun: The Pink Necromancer. Most feared super villain on Earth. Possibly the galaxy. Maybe ever. But all he wants is tea, silk embroidery, and a calm evening in his lighthouse.

- IMAGE 2: Master Chef Phooka turned Lich King of The UnSeelie Court: King Gwallmaiic aka BoomFuzzy the Unicorn with his 1968 VW Bus Beach Noodle Food Truck. He is king of the entire fucking planet. Defy him and he'll serve you as the main course of the next UnSeelie Court feast. The world's only known Unicorn, in his true form he is a tiny lilac coloured Shetland Pony with a gleaming silver horn. In his Lich form he is a blue crystal skeleton of a Friesian stallion. 

BoomFuzzy, the Unicorn Lich King of the UnSeelie Court, is Quaraun's dead husband. Technically dead. Officially terrifying. Unofficially the best baker left in the apocalypse.

- IMAGE 3: The Satyr-like, mad scientist Sheep Demon: Gremorse Liore aka GhoulSpawn with his 1974 AMC Gremlin time machine. He is Quaraun's apprentice, and fast becoming the most powerful wizard in the universe.

GhoulSpawn, their brilliant, baffled companion, fell through time from 1978 and never found the way home. Now he juggles tech repairs, running from zombies, and being madly in love with the two most dangerous men of the apocalypse.

 - Art by Wendy Christine Allen. 

- Not seen here: Toobe: a deceptively innocent looking tiny flying silver metal orb that hoovers around GhoulSpawn, giving science reports and scanning for dangers, Toobe is a sadistically insane sentient AI from thirteen thousand years in the future, who is the real brains behind the plot of global domination.

• The Series Prologue  

• Faeries vs Elves (In The Quaraun Series) A Pink Necromancer World Lore Post

The Golden Mask

I.

Beneath the sun, his name was lost,
SunTa now, where shadows crossed.
The past, the pain, a heavy cost,
His golden mask forever glossed,
To hide a soul forever tossed.

Behind the mask, the hollow hides,
A smile etched where sorrow slides.
Golden gleam, but cold inside,
Shining bright, yet shadows bide,
For truth is lost where lies reside.

SunTa’s steps echoed on stone.
He wandered the world alone, unknown.
He traded his soul for a throne.
The gold in his hands had grown,
Yet love he had once owned was now gone.

II.

The mask, it gleamed, but eyes were dim,
The scars beneath, a fading hymn.
His laughter gone, a phantom limb,
The light outside could not reach him,
A shell of gold, a life grown grim.

The eyes, they glisten, but see no light,
In gilded glow, there’s something trite.
A mask of gold, but worn in fear,
Concealing all that’s held so dear,
A frozen face in endless night.

Golden mask, cold and cracked.
A life too long, stacked in fact.
His scars beneath, a beast he lacked,
The love he left behind, attacked,
By severed heads on the shelves his heart ransacked.

III.

The wind would howl, the night would weep,
And SunTa wandered, lost in sleep.
His heart entombed in shadows deep,
In golden silence, memories creep,
Of who he was, no more to keep.

Each laugh it gives, a brittle sound,
A hollow echo, trembling bound.
It dances, spins in lightless glee,
But underneath, it longs to flee,
To break the mask and feel the ground.

He whispered to the wind, “Why?”
Lonely words kissed the blackened sky.
In darkened halls, no stars to fly.
His hands of gold, forever dry,
Fingers grasped nothing, no more to try.

IV.

Once the Pink, now buried far,
A name forgotten, like a star.
The Necromancer’s cursed scar,
A wound that bled from war to war,
Left hidden in the mask he wore.

Its shimmer blinds, a dazzling sight,
But it hides a soul too tight.
Beneath the gold, the cracks appear,
Fragile truths we all hold dear,
But none can see that brittle light.

Once his heart had beat puce pink.
Now silence swam in the devil’s drink.
The shelves of heads made him think,
Of loves he’d lost to the brink,
Eyes of the past watched him sink.

V.

He touched the gold with trembling hands,
A gilded face in empty lands.
Each breath he took, each tear that strands,
A whisper in the broken sands,
Of who he was, who now withstands.

In silent crowds, it weaves its way,
Smiling bright, yet none can say,
What secrets lie beneath that face,
That golden sheen, that perfect grace,
Hiding the soul that wastes away.

Gold could not warm his soul.
Eternal winter took its toll,
Cold winds wrapped him whole.
He stood alone, the endless goal,
Searching for something to make him whole.

VI.

The sun would set, the moon would rise,
But SunTa’s mask betrayed his eyes.
Beneath the gold, his silent cries,
The agony of lost disguise,
A ghost alone, where truth now lies.

He wears the mask like armour’s shell,
A prison forged in heaven’s hell.
A voice that trembles, cold and bleak,
Yet gilded lips will never speak,
Of shattered dreams it cannot quell.

Scars beneath the mask burned bright.
His memories twisted in the night,
Love had fled from his sight.
For gold, he’d traded all delight,
And now the stars mourned his plight.

VII.

Each wrinkle bore the weight of years,
Each scar, a testament to fears.
The laughter gone, the bitter tears,
Of all he was, through shattered mirrors,
A golden mask, no voice appears.

Each step it takes, a hollow thrum,
The mask a burden that won’t come undone.
The laughter feigned, the tears denied,
Behind the mask, the heart has died,
For in its gold, the soul succumbs.

Silvered clouds crawled across the sky.
SunTa’s steps grew heavy, dry.
In forgotten rooms, where hearts lie,
Loneliness laughed, its bitter cry,
Echoing back what gold couldn’t buy.

VIII.

He wandered fields where flowers died,
Once soft with blooms, now petrified.
The thorns, they whispered from inside,
Of joy and grief, a past denied,
That now he’d buried with his pride.

And yet, the world will never see,
The pain it bears, the silent plea.
They praise the gold, the flawless glow,
But never ask the mask to show,
The face beneath, where truth could be.

He’d been Quaraun, wild and young.
A wizard whose songs once sung,
Danced in the air, joy’s tongue.
But those days of silk were long since flung,
To the shadows, where heads among shelves bloodily hung.

IX.

The golden mask was cold as bone,
Yet brighter than the stars he’d known.
His old reflection, overthrown,
By time and scars, the past disowned,
Now SunTa walked, forever lone.

It wears the weight of unseen grief,
Gold binding tight, no sweet relief.
In mirrors, it stares, a stranger found,
A mask that gleams but makes no sound,
And holds the heart like a silent thief.

He’d loved once, a tender light.
But gold had dimmed that bright,
Now darkness was his constant sight.
His hands had let love take flight,
Leaving shelves filled with severed heads, cold as night.

X.

The sun above, the light below,
Could never touch the scars that grow.
Within his soul, the endless woe,
Of memories from long ago,
That wore the mask to hide the show.

It drips in gold, a heavy crown,
But still the soul inside drowns.
It longs to break, to tear away,
To feel the warmth of light’s soft ray,
But gold holds fast, and weighs it down.

SunTa whispered, “Regret,” to the rain.
Blood dripped down his mask like pain.
His heart echoed empty, insane.
No warmth could ease the strain,
Of love exchanged for gilded gain.

XI.

The golden face, a cruel disguise,
For all he’d lost, for all his lies.
The Pink Necromancer’s heart still dies,
Though none could see his hollow eyes,
Behind the gold, beneath the skies.

So every day, it wears the smile,
A golden sheen, but all the while,
The mask grows tighter, seals the skin,
Until the soul can’t breathe within,
A prisoner lost in gold’s exile.

His gold mask smiled, yet he did not.
It hid the face that love forgot,
Behind scars, his heart grew hot.
On The Twighlight Manor’s shelves, their severed heads began to rot,
Memories haunted each hollow spot.

XII.

His name now SunTa, but the past,
Held tight, like shadows that won’t cast.
The golden mask, a bond to last,
As time moved forward, slow and fast,
He stood alone, a gilded mast.

But in the dark, when none can see,
The mask slips loose, the soul flies free.
In fleeting moments, truth can soar,
But gold calls back, it binds once more,
And chains the heart to false decree.

For every treasure, lost love’s price.
He paid in silence, cold as ice.
Loneliness fed its grim device.
His world now a hollowed vice,
Bound by heads upon the shelf, gold’s cruel slice.

XIII.

For in the end, the mask will stay,
And never let the truth display.
It gleams and glows, but in its clasp,
A soul is lost in golden grasp,
Forever hiding, held at bay.

And when he wept, the mask remained,
A symbol of the soul constrained.
The scars beneath, forever stained,
With pain he’d never have explained,
Behind the gold, where SunTa reigned.

SunTa’s steps faded into mist.
Gold mask gleamed with what he’d missed.
Lonely heads whispered, love dismissed.
His scarred lips longed for a kiss,
But love lost, gold’s cruel twist.

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy

The Pink Necromancer, Moon Elf silk weaver & merchant: Quaraun on Noodle Beach. His master chef Phooka turned Lich husband: BoomFuzzy with his 1968 VW Bus Beach Noodle Food Truck. And their on again/off again mad scientist Sheep Demon lover: GhoulSpawn with his 1974 AMC Gremlin time machine. Time Travel setting swings back and forth between 40th century Maine after a comet hit the moon decimating the planet, and the 1970s, Maine. Quaraun in the main character, he and BoomFuzzy are a married gay couple. GhoulSpawn is their shared live-in lover. Art by Wendy Christine Allen.

BoomFuzzy

Quaraun

GhoulSpawn and BoomFuzzy

GhoulSpawn

GhoulSpawn and Quaraun

Faeries vs Elves (In The Quaraun Series) A Pink Necromancer World Lore Post

The Pink Necromancer: The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane aka The Twighlight Manor Series

🌸🦄🌸 Furry Yaoi Fiction about Elves and Faeries and Satyrs and Demons and Unicorns and Technomancer Wizards and Liches living in a Lighthouse and surviving as Travelling Merchants and Food Truck Chefs in Cyberpunk Dystopian 40th Century Maine, and Zombie Apocalypse and Time Travel but it’s Slice of Life Vignettes of Mundane Daily Lives of The UnSeelie Court’s Royal Family trying to survive after a comet hit the moon and turned the Earth into a CyberPunk Ice-Age. 🌸🦄🌸

• eBook Editions from this series can be found on: GumRoad

• Kindle, eBook, Print Paperback, & full colour illustrated Hardcover Editions from this series can be found on: Amazon

Meet The Characters

Wendy Christine Allen, 2019, able to sit up in a chair for the first time in years, and able to raise up my arm and wiggle fingers. This was when I started playing Witcher 3 on Twitch as part of my physical therapy to regain finger movement. Playing Witcher 3 daily from 2016 to 2019, is how I regained the use of my thumb and two for fingers on my right hand... it is also why I stopped playing Witcher 3 in 2019, once I had strengthen my two forefingers enough to start typing again. Wendy Christine Allen, Old Orchard Beach's Autistic Author, Artist, Illustrator, & Art Car Designer Counting Down to the September 23, 2028 50th Anniversary of my first published book (September 23, 1978) If you are here looking for The Twighlight Manor series, The Crystonite Wars series, The Wild Years series, The White Rock Asylum for the Criminally Insane series, The Twisted Tales series, the Captured By a MerMan series, The Space Dock 13 series, The Kats of Planet Ptarmagin series, the stories about Miss Citten the Eel-Kat, or the stories about Etiole... ALL of those series were combined and consolidated into The Adventures of Quaraun the Insane Pink Necromancer series in 2014, so ALL the different series, are now under one series title. List of the published titles still in print: The Index of over three thousand stories in The Pink Necromancer series What the series is about, for those new here: The introduction to The Pink Necromancer Series.

If you want some stories to get you started in The Pink Necromancer series, reading these first will give you a good introduction to the 3 main characters: BoomFuzzy's Chowder Dilemma If your ass ain’t freezing or your brains ain’t scrambled, you’re ain’t really trying A Very Important Clump of Grass The Washer Woman & The Fae Absinthe Slushies: An Ode to Frozen Green Fairy Wine Bone Dice Excited For The New Baby Zwodder: A Drowsy Stupid State of Mind Pink Sheep, Cheesy Burritos, and The Grim Reality of Zombies Open Grave The Phooka's Dragon School The Moon Goddess Laughs From The Rooftops The Jar of Pickled Toes The Book Burning Maggots, a You Can't Spell Hatred Without Red Hats A Day In The Life of a Bumbling Necromancer The Three-Seventeen Pee Expedition

My Elves Are JellyFish...and I asked Google AI and ChatGPT 5.6 what they thought of this.

As requested, my daily writing prompt series is now available print paperback editions on Amazon.

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.1: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.2: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.3: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.4: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.5: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

There are 20 volumes of this writing prompt series currently planned and in varying stages of finishing, hopefully all 20 will be published by the end of 2026. I likely will do a 2nd series of writing prompt books in 2027.

Health update: August 4, 2026 - in recovery for 6 months+ (at least until mid-January 2027...all book and video game releases are pushed back at least 6 months) see video below for why...

@eelkat health update #maine #disabilityawareness #wheelchairlife #wheelchairvlogger #multiplesclerosis ♬ original sound - Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

Update Sept 3, 2026:

I am able to get around enough to take Koko to dog park... today is 29 days since getting out of hospital. My diet is still mostly liquid, but im eating some solid food again, but its like rice or soft mushy baby food type stuff because I still can not chew yet, though I can swallow again. My jaw is still not functioning good so im having trouble talking still. So there's been slight improvement to my mouth, throat, and jaw, but, zero improvement to my eye, which is a major concern, be Im almost fully blind right now. im legally blind since birth in my left eye, so I have no ability to fall back on using my left eye. My right eye is the one injured and my vision in it is "40% decreased" according to my doctor, but it wasn't good vision to begin with, and right now my right eye is not much different from my legally blind left eye. Which I why I have to have someone drive my car for me instead of me driving my car myself right now, which is very frustrating, because, being a female, I had to fight for over twenty years to be allowed to drive. I started sneaking out at age 31 and dressing as a man to go to Old Orchard Beach high school to get a ged, because us females are not allowed to go to school. And i was 37 years old when snuck out to the DMV and got a driver's permit and started going to college. I was 42 and 8 months pregnant when my family found out I was going to college and thats when I was punished by the backhoe driving over my house and my spine broken with a golf club and my baby born right then and killed with same golf club. So it's very frustrating now, so soon after finally being able to drive , to now not be able to drive because of an eye injury, especially after 14 years of being paralyzed from the golf club and not being allowed to have a wheelchair, again, because i am female and we females are simply not allowed to do anything. I hate the culture I was born into. I wish I had the freedom to go to school and drive a car the way American women do. I wish having my spine broken with a golf club and my baby killed with a golf club and a backhoe driven over my house was not how men in my family punishment women in my family for learning to read and write. Its so frustrating not being able to to drive again, so soon after 14 years being paralyzed, and being paralyzed by the golf club was the punishment for getting a driver's license back in 2013 after 30 years of men not letting me have one. I hate my family's culture and how they treat us women.

I get so sick of Americans telling me how they wish they could be a Gypsy… they are either misogynist woman hating pigs, or delusional idiots who haven't got a clue how shittily we Gypsy women are treated by Gypsy men, because no one in their righ mind who knows anything about Gypsy culture would ever want to be part of it. I hate that I was born a Gypsy. 

update sept 7, 2026

"You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me?

I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking.

So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me.

see video below for more information: 

@eelkat "You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me? I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking. So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me. #mainelife #biddefordmaine #maine #disabilitytiktok #Biddeford ♬ original sound Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

update Sept 15, 2026:

I have some slight movement in some my fingers again again after over a decade being paralyzed

you remember how I used to be a professional doll making, pattern designer, and embroiderer, back before I became paralized and before my son was murdered and being the backhoe drove over my house?

all my equipment, sewing machines, ect were all destroyed by the backhoe driving over my house, and I have been quardepelegic for over a decade because of it so could not use my hands to sew or draw or embroider, and so only continued to do my writing of novels since then because I could do that with dragon dictation software,

well, since 2016, I been playing Witcher 3 and don't starve video games on twitch livestream, one hand two fingers, as part of my therapy to regain nerve and muscle use of my fingers, and now after 10 years of that, I have somewhat more movement in my fingers and im thinking maybe I can try to do embroidery and doll making again, but not sure, anyways, now im rebuying all of my sewing and embroidery equipment that the backhoe destroyed when it drove over my house, and hopefully I can use my hand enough to embroider again.

waiting for stuff to arrive in mail, so soon I should find out if ten years of twitch gaming has given me enough muscle strength to use my fingers to embroider again.

update to the previous video, answering viewer question about lack of hospital vs broken spine

Wheelchair Fundraiser... I need to upgrade to a power wheelchair, the manual one just isn't enough anymore. But the power wheelchair is $25k. Yes, twenty five thousand dollars. Wtf? I can get a car for a quarter that price, why are wheelchairs so damned expensive? That's more money then I make in five years, so I need to start a fundraiser for it.

Books By Wendy Christine Allen
Currently Available on Amazon Kindle:

Index of the Quaraun novels, novellas, & short story collections on Amazon

And GumRoad:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on GumRoad

On Medium:

An Index of the more than TWO THOUSAND Quaraun Short Stories on Medium

(NOTE: a $5 or $15 per month paid subscription required to access stories on Medium)

On Vocal:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on Vocal

On Notd:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on Notd

On OnlyFans:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on OnlyFans

(NOTE: a $4.99 per month paid subscription required to access stories on OnlyFans)

Pink Necromancer Merch: On CafePress:

An Index of the Quaraun Merch on CafePress

Pink Necromancer Merch: On Zazzle:

Index of the Quaraun Merch on Zazzle

Not Quaraun:

This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.

All Rights Reserved.