THE CROWN OF QUEENS 👑 EPISODE 2

 Part Two: The Weight of the Crown

My name is still Toke.

For now.

Because names lose meaning when your reflection no longer answers to you.

I did not cut the hair.

I dropped the razor blade.

The moment it touched the floor, the whispers softened pleased, like a beast reassured by obedience. The pain did not stop, but it changed. It became… organized. Rhythmic. As if something inside me had settled into a routine.

By morning, the bleeding had stopped. The holes in my scalp sealed themselves, smooth and flawless. My skin glowed like I had bathed in youth.

I stood up slowly.

The mirror greeted me with a stranger.

Same face. Different authority.

My eyes were darker. Deeper. Like I was standing in front of a well instead of glass.

And the hair…

The Crown of Queens flowed down my back, heavier than before, warmer now. Comfortable.

Possessive.

By 9 a.m., my phone would not stop ringing.

Banks. Brands. Numbers that did not belong to me suddenly did.

A credit alert came in seven figures. No sender name.

I laughed.

Then I cried.

Then the whisper corrected me.

Do not cry. Queens do not beg the world to understand them.

I dressed without thinking. My hands moved with confidence I had never practiced. Outside, the sun bent kindly toward me. The gateman greeted me with fear instead of familiarity.

I realized something chilling.

People could feel it.

By evening, Madam Rose called again.

 “You adjusted quickly,” she said.

I wanted to curse her.

Instead, my mouth smiled.

“What happens now?” I asked.

She paused.

“Now you learn the rules,” she said. “The Crown rewards generosity but punishes hunger. You will never lack, as long as you feed it.”

My stomach twisted.

“Feed it what?”

Her silence lasted too long.

Then she answered:

“Desire. Blood when necessary. Madness when you resist.”

The line went dead.

That night, I dreamed of water.

Not swimming sinking.

A woman sat on a throne beneath the waves. Her hair was endless. Her eyes were empty sockets filled with stars.

She did not speak.

She only smiled.

I woke up screaming.

My pillow was wet.

Not with sweat.

With seawater.

The first man came willingly.

Femi.

He begged to see me again. Said he could not stop thinking about my hair. My voice. My presence.

I told him to come over.

When he touched my head, the Crown tightened.

When he kissed me, the whispers sang.

I tried to stop.

The Crown decided otherwise.

By morning, Femi was gone.

So was the pain.

Weeks passed.

My wardrobe changed itself.

My account balance stopped making sense.

Women began to hate me without reason.

Men lowered their voices when I spoke.

At night, the Crown told me stories of other queens, other cities, other foolish girls who wanted to shine.

Some lasted months. Some years.

None escaped.

Yesterday, I visited Ikoyi.

Madam Rose’s house was empty.

The Prayer Room was gone.

In its place was a nursery.

A cradle rocked gently, though no baby was inside.

On the wall, carved freshly, were words meant for me:

Every Queen must choose her successor.

I screamed.

The Crown laughed.

Tonight, I am hosting a party.

Young girls. Asoebi. Music.

I will smile. I will shine.

And one of them will admire my hair a little too much.

That is how it begins.

If you are reading this and you love something that does not love you back Run.

Because the Crown is patient.

And it is always hungry.

TBC.. Episode 3