Ms Snailhead and the Crown That Declared Itself

Ms Snailhead arrives at Comic Con ZANABIA exactly the way she believes destiny intended.
Slowly. Deliberately. Applause-ready.
She wears a full, modest, perfectly tailored pink latex suit—elegant, dignified, and shimmering just enough to suggest effort without desperation. On her head sits a crown that reads “Ms ZANABIA”, handcrafted by herself, for herself, with excellent craftsmanship and absolutely no committee approval.
Her insecurity?
That beauty must be officially recognised—or it disappears.
Her confidence?
Unshakeable.
The crowd cheers. Loudly. Joyfully. Children wave. Cameras appear. Someone starts a chant and forgets how it began. Ms Snailhead smiles like a queen who has already written her acceptance speech.
Everyone cheers.
Except Blenchy.
Blenchy stiffens. Clipboards tighten. Titles are regulated. Forms exist. Processes matter. He exhales, frowns briefly, then does something very Zanabian.
He lets it go.
Comic Con isn’t about permission—it’s about expression.
Ms Snailhead glides past, regal, radiant, undefeated.
Blenchy writes a small note: “Discuss crowns later.”
Zanabia moves on—slightly more fabulous than before. 🐌👑✨