QUEEN DIANA STORY - Invidious

Chapter Six: The Web Tightens

The rain stopped by morning, but the city did not dry. Lagos carried a wet heaviness, like the sky itself was mourning. Crayon sat by his one-room window, watching the street below as hawkers shouted and danfo buses rattled past. Tochi’s sobs still rang in his ears. Her words were carved into his chest: They Own Me, You Own Me, They Own Us.

But who were they? How is he involved?
Crayon had always trusted his instincts, and now his instincts whispered a truth more dangerous than anything he’d known: Tochi was only the surface. The killings, the carvings, the whispers of cults, there was a hand bigger than hers, pulling every string, but how is he involved?

He tried to breathe, but guilt pressed harder than the scar on his jaw. A man had died at her feet last night, and instead of ending it, he had held her, chosen her, betrayed justice.
Still, something inside him, a fire he could not kill, told him he had to uncover the full web before it swallowed him whole.

That evening, Crayon returned to Carter Bridge, to the muddy place where the body had fallen. It was gone. No blood, no trace, only silence and the dark ripple of the lagoon. Someone had cleaned it. Someone powerful enough to erase death like chalk from a blackboard.

He turned sharply when he heard footsteps.
A man in white stood behind him. White kaftan, white slippers, head shaved clean. His eyes were calm, too calm, and when he smiled, Crayon felt his blood turn to ice.

“You should not be here,” the man said softly. His voice was gentle, like a teacher correcting a child.
Crayon’s jaw tightened. “Who are you?”
The man ignored the question. He walked closer, hands behind his back. “You smell of her. Tochi. She has touched you.”
Crayon’s fists clenched, but the man only chuckled. “Ah… so it is true. She loves you. Fate caught up with you both. How dangerous.”

He leaned forward, whispering now: “Leave her. Leave this city. Forget the knocks you hear in the dark, the whispers that follow you.
If you don’t…” His smile stretched wider. “…you will not live long enough to regret it.”
And just like that, he turned and walked into the mist, fading as though the lagoon itself had swallowed him.

Crayon stood trembling, heart pounding against his ribs. For the first time, he realized this was bigger than Tochi’s pain. This was not one woman killing to survive. This was a machine. A cult. A shadow government that cleaned blood before sunrise.
But why does the man look familiar?

He stumbled back to his room, every step heavier than the last. When he opened the door, Tochi was inside, sitting on his mattress, her face pale, her eyes red from tears.
“They know about you,” she whispered.
Crayon’s throat dried. “Who was he?”

She shook her head, trembling. “One of the Watchers. They watch for weakness. If they believe I’ve spoken too much, if they think I’ve grown too close to you…” She trailed off, her voice breaking. “…they will take you first, you need to remember.”

Crayon: Remember what?

Silence swallowed the room. The hum of his broken fan, the horns outside, the buzz of a mosquito, it all faded. Only Tochi’s words remained.

Crayon sat slowly beside her, the weight of the city pressing down on his shoulders. He had betrayed justice once by choosing her. Now, he was trapped.

The web had tightened. And the more he struggled, the more he knew he was already marked.

He asked again, What do I need to remember?

To be Continued…………

#queendianastory

Story Title: Crayon: Shadows In Lagos

Suspense (Written by © Queen Diana Story — #BestWriter | #GhostWriter | #ScriptWriter | #Writer | #ContentWriter) 🔞

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QUEEN DIANA STORY

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QUEEN DIANA STORY

Chapter Five: The First Betrayal

The rain did not stop that night. Lagos was soaked, every street glistening with water and fear. The killings had now reached nine victims, and the air in the city was sharp with panic. People locked themselves in early, market stalls closed before dusk, and whispers in the bus stops grew louder cults, sacrifices, blood oaths.

But Crayon’s heart was not on the streets. His heart was with Tochi.
She had vanished for two days without a word. No messages. No sign. He walked through Yaba market, searching her stall, but the iron shutter was locked. Neighbors only shrugged. “She comes when she wants. She goes when she wants.”

That night, Crayon followed the pulse of the city, that strange instinct that told him where darkness would strike. His legs carried him toward the old Carter Bridge, where the lagoon lapped against broken wood.
He froze when he saw her.
Tochi.

Standing in the shadows, her wrapper tied loosely, her hair wet from the rain, her hands shaking. And at her feet, another body. A young man, chest open, his eyes still staring at the clouds.
Crayon’s heart shattered. He wanted to scream, but the sound would not come. Instead, he stepped closer.
“Tochi…” His voice cracked like dry wood.
She turned slowly, tears cutting through the rain on her face. “I didn’t want you to see this.”
“Then why?” His voice was louder now, filled with a desperate anger. “Why are you doing this?”

Her lips trembled, her eyes burned with pain. “Because I have no choice.”
Crayon stepped closer, his shoes sinking into the mud. He reached for her arm, but she pulled back as though his touch burned.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “They own me, they own us. They took me when I was still a girl, and they marked me. If I disobey, if I stop, they will kill me slowly.
And worse, Crayon worse, they will kill you too.”

Crayon’s chest ached at those words. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to promise her safety. But his eyes fell on the corpse again, on the lifeless eyes staring into nothing.
“You killed him.”

Her tears fell harder. “Yes. And I’ll kill again, unless you end it.”

Crayon: Why do you keep acting like I am part of this? What are you not telling me?
Why am I able to find you just when someone dies? What is really going on?

Tochi: dropped to her knees in the rain, pressing her blood-stained hands against her face. “But I can’t stop. And you… You’re the only one who can betray me. The only one I’ll forgive.”
Crayon stood frozen, the storm raging around them. His instinct screamed. This was the moment. He could run to the police, expose her, save the city. Or he could keep her secret, hold her close, and drown in her darkness.

But Tochi’s eyes… they begged, not like a killer, but like a broken child who had lost everything.
And in that instant, Crayon realized his first betrayal had already happened.
He chose her.
Instead of dragging her to justice, he knelt beside her, held her shaking body in his arms, and whispered, “I won’t leave you. Not tonight.”

Tochi: Not tonight? But someday.
She clung to him, sobbing into his chest, her voice muffled but heavy with truth. “You’ll regret this, Crayon. One day, you’ll hate me and yourself for the love you’re giving me now.”
But this is our fate, A fate we both must face together.

And as the lagoon swallowed the echo of her words, Crayon felt a cold shiver that told him she was right.
The city would never forgive him. And neither, in the end, would he forgive himself.

Now more than ever, he doubted his origins. He asked, Who Is Crayon?

To be Continued…………

#queendianastory

Story Title: Crayon: Shadows In Lagos.

Suspense (Written By © Queen Diana Story #BestWriter) | 🔞

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QUEEN DIANA STORY

Chapter Four: The Edge of Trust

The city didn’t sleep, but it pretended to. By midnight, Lagos Mainland was quieter, though silence in Lagos was never true silence. Generators hummed in backyards, okada bikes buzzed down side streets, stray dogs barked in the distance, and the lagoon breathed like a living thing.

Crayon walked alone through Ojota, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his scar catching faint glimmers of light from passing danfos. Every corner, every face, every shadow felt like it held secrets. His instincts usually sharpened in moments like this, pointing him toward hidden truths. But now, since Tochi’s confession, his instincts were blurred, clouded with her voice, her tears, her kiss.

He had chosen not to take her to the police. That decision lived in his chest like a hot coal, burning slow, threatening to consume him.
Tochi.
Every time he said her name in his head, he felt both weight and lightness. She was dangerous, he knew it, but she was also human, fragile in ways she had revealed only to him. He had seen killers before, seen the emptiness in their eyes.
Tochi’s eyes were not empty. They were overflowing, with rage, with sorrow, with something that made him stay.
Still, he couldn’t stop hunting.
Is he in love with a serial killer?
Or Infatuated?
Or is she even a serial killer?

That week, he traced rumors. People in the market spoke of strange gatherings near the lagoon at night, of symbols carved not only on foreheads but also on the walls of abandoned buildings. He followed the trails alone, carrying no weapon but his instincts. And each time he came close to danger, her face returned in his mind, confusing him.
Was she the killer? Or was she only a piece of something larger?
One evening, Crayon found himself standing before a derelict house near Ebute Metta. The walls were cracked, eaten by damp, but on one wall, faint under the peeling paint, he saw the same strange marks as on the victims’ foreheads. His chest tightened. Someone had been here.
The hairs on his arms rose. He wasn’t alone.
He turned quickly, and there she was.

Tochi.
Her figure leaned against the broken doorway, her face half-hidden by shadow, half-lit by the dying sun. She wore no smile now. She looked almost regal in her sadness, like a queen burdened with grief too heavy to carry.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly.
Crayon’s jaw tightened. “Then why are you here?”
She stepped forward. Her eyes held him, steady, unflinching. “Because this place belongs to my past. And you… you… you…

Crayon: I, What?
I what? Speak.
He felt his fists clench, though he didn’t remember telling them to. “Tell me everything, Tochi. Don’t drip pieces. Don’t cry and leave me guessing. Who are you? Why the marks? Why the blood?”
For the first time, she looked away. The silence stretched, heavy as the humid air. Then she spoke, low and trembling.

“I was made, Men who carved their oaths into skin, who believed pain was truth.
You all used me. You all broke me. And you marked me.
Crayon shocked, What are you saying?
Her fingers brushed her shoulder, where Crayon now noticed faint scars like half-forgotten tattoos.
“I tried to leave,” she continued. “But you don’t leave. You all follow me.
They twist you until you’re one of them. The killings… they began as theirs.
Your scar, my victim and executioner.”
Crayon’s chest ached. He wanted to hate her. He wanted to love her. Both were true.
What does she know about the scar on his face, who is Tochi?
Why him?

“Tochi,” he whispered, “you could have stopped.”
Her eyes lifted to his, burning with a mix of fury and desperation.
“Do you think I don’t try every day? Do you think I don’t pray, don’t scream at myself when no one hears?

Tochi screamed Why didn't you stop?
Why didn't you stop?
Is that why you are the only one who sees me beyond the blood?
Don’t let go of me, crayon.
Crayon thought to himself, She is mentally unstable, this is the only explanation.
Now he loved her more; he was certain he had to help her.

She is crazy.
A crazy killer on the loose, who will believe him?
How would he help the crazy killer?
She stepped close, close enough for him to smell the faint scent of rain still clinging to her clothes. Her hand reached for his face, tracing the scar on his jaw like it was sacred.
And that was the edge.
He could turn her in, end it now, fulfill the justice burning in him since the first body. Or he could keep falling, deeper into her, deeper into this darkness that no man could climb out of.
He chose silence.

When her lips met his, the weight of justice crumbled under the weight of desire. The derelict house, with its cracked walls and haunted marks, became their witness.
But as her arms circled him, Crayon’s instincts stirred again.
Not warning. Not danger. Something worse, fate.
As if the city itself whispered: This love will kill you both.

To be Continued…………

#queendianastory

Story Title: Crayon: Shadows In Lagos
Suspense (Written By © Queen Diana Story #BestWriter) | 🔞

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QUEEN DIANA STORY

Chapter Three: Love and Blood

The rain had not stopped since the body by the lagoon was found.
Lagos was a city that hid secrets in the rain, letting it wash blood from the streets before morning came.
For Crayon, the sound of water against his window that night was not cleansing; it was accusing.
He sat at his desk, staring at his notebook, trying to piece together names, times, and clues. His pen scratched furiously, circling the word again and again: Tochi.

He should not have written it.
He should not even be thinking it.
But her eyes followed him, even here. Her smile, the warmth of her breath when she whispered in the market, her stillness at the lagoon, all of it clung to him like the rain on the city’s skin.
At first, he tried to resist. He convinced himself he had imagined her near the corpse. That it was a coincidence. That he was tired, overworked, letting fear create ghosts.
Then, just past midnight, there was a knock.

Not the frantic knock from the night before. This was slower. Softer. Almost polite. Three taps. A pause. Then two more.
Crayon’s heart stilled. He rose carefully, each step toward the door heavier than the last. He did not breathe until his hand rested on the chain.
“Who is it?” His voice cracked.
No answer.
Rain pattered against the roof. Water trickled down the drain. The world was quiet.
Then, through the thin wooden door, came a whisper:
“It’s me.”
Tochi.
The chain slid back before his mind could argue. His hand betrayed him. And when the door opened, she stood there, drenched. Her clothes clung to her body, her hair plastered against her cheeks, her eyes glowing with something between sorrow and defiance.
Crayon’s chest tightened.
“What are you doing here?”

She stepped inside without waiting for an answer, dripping water on his floor. Her arms were folded, her jaw set. Yet her entire body trembled.
“You saw me today,” she said. Not a question. A statement.
He swallowed. “At the lagoon.”
Her eyes lifted to his. The storm he thought he had imagined in the market now thundered openly. She was raw. Unhidden. And when she spoke, her voice cracked like glass breaking:
“Yes, I did it.”

The room seemed to tilt. The words were so sharp, so direct, that for a moment he thought he had misheard.
“You what?”

Her breath came fast. She moved closer, as though the distance between them was more unbearable than her confession. “I killed them.”
Crayon stumbled back, hitting the desk. His pen rolled to the floor. His mind screamed arrest her, report her, run, but his body… his body stayed rooted.
His chest heaved, his pulse thundered, yet he could not move.
She came closer still, her hand rising, not with a weapon, but with a trembling desperation. She touched his arm.

“But not because I wanted to,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Do you understand?
I never wanted to. The world hurt me first. They… they took everything from me. And when I struck back, it wasn’t murder, it was survival. It was the only way to breathe again.”
Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the rain on her cheeks. Her lips trembled, but her eyes never left his.
“And you, Crayon,” she continued, her voice softening, shattering. “You’re the only person who makes me feel alive. When I saw you, I thought… maybe I could stop. Maybe I could let go of the blood.

Maybe” Her voice broke into a sob. “Maybe I could still be human.”
The words pierced him deeper than knives. He should have pushed her away. He should have shouted. But instead, his hands betrayed him. They rose, pulling her closer, feeling the tremor of her body against his.
She wept in his arms. And he believed her. Or maybe he wanted to.
The storm outside raged, lightning flashing against the walls, but in that moment, he held her as though she were his anchor in the flood.

Hours blurred. She stayed. And when dawn crept into the room, pale and gray, the truth had already chained him.
By day, Crayon wrote reports, met with police, followed trails of evidence that all pointed back to her. His notes filled with contradictions: She’s guilty. She’s innocent. She’s broken. She’s dangerous. She needs me. I need her.
By night, she returned. Sometimes in silence, sometimes in tears, sometimes with laughter so fragile it seemed borrowed from another lifetime.

And each time she left, he told himself he was gathering proof. That he was getting closer to exposing her.
But deep inside, in the quiet place where lies become truth, he knew he was falling.
Falling for the very shadow that had painted the city in blood.
And worse still, he no longer wanted to climb back out, but then he found an even bigger secret, bigger and greater than him, or so he thought.

To be Continued…………

#queendianastory

Story Title: Crayon: Shadows In Lagos
Suspense (Written By © Queen Diana Story #BestWriter) | 🔞

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QUEEN DIANA STORY

Chapter Two: The Meeting

The knock still lived inside Crayon’s head. Even as the city returned to its normal chaos the next morning, it echoed, quiet but sharp, like a nail driven behind his ears.

He could not forget the way the chained door whispered his name, though no one was there, or so he thought.
He tried to convince himself it was his imagination, a trick of the night, of hunger, of exhaustion.

Yet his body betrayed him. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard it again, Crayon.
By noon, he pushed himself into the market to drown the sound in noise.
The market stretched like a restless sea across Lagos Mainland. Wooden stalls leaned on each other as if afraid to stand alone.

The air stank of diesel, sweat, fried akara, and roasted corn. Hawkers fought for attention with hoarse voices, “Tomatoes! Fresh pepper!”, while barefoot children weaved through the crowd balancing trays of oranges.
A goat bleated in protest as a boy dragged it through the mud, and above it all, the metallic groan of generators swallowed the sky.
Noise. Chaos. Life.
But still, the whisper in his head remained.
That was when he saw her.

She sat on the ground by a faded tarpaulin where second-hand clothes were spread. Shirts, skirts, trousers, all folded neatly, though the colors had long faded. Unlike the others, she did not shout. She did not call. She simply looked up, and when her eyes met his, everything else fell silent.
Tochi.
Her smile came slowly, soft but steady, like she had been expecting him. Her face was wet with sweat from the heat, yet her expression carried no weariness. Only certainty.
“Looking for something?” she asked. Her voice was smooth, low, not meant for the crowd but for him alone.

Crayon stopped. He hadn’t meant to. The crowd pressed against him from behind, but he stood frozen. His instincts screamed. Something in the air around her was different.
She leaned forward, lifting a blue shirt from the pile, holding it out. Her hand brushed his wrist. The touch lingered just long enough to make his blood run cold.
Fear jolted through him, yet he didn’t pull away.
That was the strange part.

Tochi’s eyes were heavy, darker than her voice. They carried storms, deep and unspoken, the kind that never broke until they destroyed everything around them. Her smile belonged to the market, but her eyes belonged to something else, something waiting in the dark.
He swallowed hard, pretending to check the shirt.
“How much?”
Her lips curved. She leaned closer, her words a whisper in his ear:
“For you? Cheaper than for anyone else.”
Her breath brushed against his skin, warm despite the market breeze. The hairs on his neck rose. His instincts twisted in knots.
He wanted to leave.
But he stayed.

They spoke for only minutes, but every second dragged heavy, thick with something he couldn’t name. When he finally walked away, the crowd swallowed him, yet he felt her gaze clinging to his back like a shadow.

That night, Lagos was restless again. The lagoon carried another body to its banks.
The seventh victim. The crowd gathered, their whispers clashing louder than the police sirens. Someone cried out about curses. Someone else swore it was a cult.
Crayon pushed through them, his heart pounding. Rain glistened on the corpse’s forehead, highlighting the carved mark. His stomach clenched.
And then he froze.

Beyond the tape, beyond the police, beyond the noise, she stood.
Tochi.
She was still, her clothes damp with drizzle, her arms folded across her chest. Her eyes locked on the corpse as though she had seen it before anyone else. Not horror. Not sadness. Only calm.
Then she lifted her head. Her eyes found him in the crowd. And for the second time that day, the market faded, the noise fell silent, and only the two of them remained.
She smiled.
And in that moment, the whisper from the chained door returned.
Crayon…

His breath caught in his throat.
He wanted to shout. He wanted to run. Instead, he stood frozen under the Lagos rain, staring back at the woman whose touch had burned him that morning.
And deep inside, where he buried his truths, something told him the knock had not been a warning. It had been a calling.
And Tochi was the answer.

To be Continued…………

#queendianastory
Story Title: Crayon: Shadows In Lagos
Suspense (Written By © Queen Diana Story #BestWriter) | 🔞

3 months ago | [YT] | 2

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QUEEN DIANA STORY

Crayon: Shadows In Lagos | Chapter 1
Suspense (Written By © Queen Diana Story) | 🔞

Crayon’s hands were trembling when the police sirens wailed, and Tochi’s lifeless eyes stared at him under the moonlight.
Everyone thought he was the hero.
But Crayon knew he was not.
And by the time you understand why, it will already be too late.

Chapter One: The First Knock.

Crayon lived alone in a one-room apartment in Lagos Mainland.
His mattress lay flat against the floor, his fan whined with a dying motor, and his ceiling carried stains from years of leaking rain. The room smelled of dust and palm oil, but to him, it was a place of silence.
He was an ordinary young man, with brown skin, quiet eyes, and a scar carved like lightning across his left jaw from a fight he never spoke about.
But ordinary was not the whole truth.

Inside him burned a secret fire.
Crayon wanted justice. Not the kind that policemen parade in courtrooms. Not the kind priests chant about in church. He wanted the kind of justice that struck like thunder, sudden, merciless, unforgettable.
And Lagos needed it.

The city was not at peace. For two months, death had walked its streets.
Six victims already, each one found cold and stiff, with strange marks carved deep into their foreheads. The police called it ritual murder. Others whispered about cults, curses, or spirits rising from the lagoon. Every morning, the newspapers carried another body.

But Crayon did not read the papers anymore.
He did not pray like his neighbors did, their voices trembling as they clutched Bibles and Qur’ans in the night. He listened instead. He watched.
And he waited.

When the sun sank, Lagos revealed its true face. Streetlights flickered like dying stars, danfo buses rushed past with broken horns, and hawkers closed their stalls, leaving only shadows behind.
Crayon stepped into those shadows, a dark figure in a worn-out hoodie, moving with the patience of a hunter.
He had no badge. No training. No weapon. Yet something inside him screamed louder than all the noise in Lagos: evil is near.

That was when it came.
The knock.
At first, it was faint. A dull, hollow sound carried by the wind, as if someone had struck wood in a deserted place. Most people would not have noticed, but Crayon’s body stiffened. He turned his head slowly, listening.
The knock came again.
Soft. Deliberate. Not by accident.

He followed the sound.
It pulled him towards the lagoon, past a row of abandoned buildings that leaned like old men waiting to fall. Windows smashed, doors chained shut, walls coated with graffiti and ash. The closer he got, the colder the air became. Lagos traffic still screamed behind him, but here, in this place, the noise seemed muffled, distant.

The knock came once more. This time, it echoed, not just in the air but deep inside his chest, like it was meant for him alone.
Crayon’s breath caught. His instincts sharpened. Something about that sound was wrong, yet familiar, as though he had heard it long ago in a memory buried too deep.

He pressed his ear against the chained door of one building. The wood smelled of rot. His fingers traced the metal links, rough with rust.
And then he heard it.
A whisper.
Low, broken, almost too soft to catch.
“Crayon…”
His name.

He stumbled back, heart pounding. No one was supposed to know he was here. No one was supposed to be inside.
The night wind howled through the streets, carrying dust and the smell of saltwater from the lagoon. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. But the only thing Crayon could hear now was his pulse thundering in his ears, and the faint, lingering echo of that voice calling his name from behind the chained door.

For the first time since the killings began, Crayon was afraid.
And that was how it started, the first knock.
To be Continued…………

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QUEEN DIANA STORY

A Ticket To The Heart.

A Must Read 🥰

👉 When the plane touched down, reality loomed large, yet the magic of their time together lingered in the air.

They made a pact to explore the city together, not wanting to let the adventure end with the arrival at their destination. With their hearts racing and the thrill of spontaneity in their veins, they stepped out into the bustling streets, ready to dive headfirst into the whirlwind romance that awaited them.

CopyRight: Queen Diana Story |‪@queendianastory‬

#StoryTime

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