THE CROWN OF QUEENS 👑 EPISODE 3

Part Three: The Girl Who Wanted to Shine

Her name was Zainab.

She arrived late to the party.

They always do.

I noticed her the moment she stepped in. Not because she was loud, or dressed badly, or desperate.

But because she stared.

Not at my shoes. Not at my bag.

At my hair.

Her eyes followed the Crown the way hunger follows food.

The whispers stirred.

She is soft, they murmured. She is empty. She will fit.

I should have looked away.

Instead, I smiled.

Zainab was twenty-two. NYSC just finished. Unemployed, but glowing with ambition. She said she worked “freelance marketing” which meant she survived on vibes and hope.

She laughed too loudly at my jokes. Asked too many questions about my lifestyle.

“Big sis, your hair is everything,” she said. “Please, where did you buy it?”

The Crown tightened, amused.

“It’s not for sale,” I replied.

She nodded eagerly.

“I understand. Some things are… special.”

My stomach turned.

She already knew.

That night, the Crown did not let me sleep.

It showed me Zainab’s life.

A single room in Yaba. A cracked mirror. A mother who prayed too much. A phone filled with rejection emails. A hunger so sharp it woke her at night.

She will beg, the Crown promised. They always do.

I covered my ears.

But the visions continued.

Three weeks later, she begged.

She came to my apartment crying. Said she had an audition. A brand meeting. One chance to finally be seen.

“I just need to look like you,” she said. “Just for one day.”

My throat closed.

I heard Madam Rose’s laughter echo in my skull.

“Just for one night,” I whispered.

The Crown hummed.

The transfer room appeared by itself.

I did not build it.

One day, a locked door existed where none had been before.

Inside: mirrors. Red rugs. A golden stand.

I vomited.

The Crown was already preparing.

Zainab stood barefoot in the center of the room.

She was shaking.

“Is it spiritual?” she asked weakly.

I could not lie.

“Yes.”

She hesitated.

Then she straightened her shoulders.

“I can handle it.”

The Crown laughed so hard my nose bled.

When I lifted the hair from my head, pain unlike anything I had known tore through me.

The Crown did not want to leave.

It screamed.

I screamed.

Zainab screamed.

Blood splashed the mirrors.

Then Silence.

The Crown settled onto her head like it had been waiting.

Zainab collapsed.

I collapsed too.

But when I stood up…

The pain was gone.

My reflection was ordinary.

Human.

I laughed.

I cried.

I was free.

Behind me, Zainab stood slowly.

Her posture had changed.

Her eyes were deeper.

Older.

She smiled at me with my own old smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea how heavy it was.”

My joy froze.

She walked past me, confident, glowing.

At the door, she paused.

“Oh,” she added casually. “By the way… it needs a successor every ten years.”

She winked.

“Try not to wait too long.”

The door closed.

I am writing this from a small room.

I wear synthetic wigs again.

I flinch when people compliment my hair.

Sometimes, at night, I feel phantom pain.

And sometimes When I look closely at my scalp I swear I see roots.

Waiting.

TBC... Episode 4 End