"The rubbish bin, for you!" I huffed under my breath as I slammed the tabloid in the bin. This world was far too critical of anyone and everything. Queen Elizabeth II was the epitome of grace and poise of ages past. So what if she was also the world's oldest living person?

At 6:30 A.M., I quickly made my way down to the kitchens, where I began preparations, and awaited Maude, my soon-to-be-predecessor. Her steely gray eyes trained on me as she entered the kitchen, apron already in place.

"Good morning, Anne. Have you started the tea yet?"

"Yes, the Malvern water just about boiling."

"Good..." she commented as her gaze swept over the tea tray. I could sense a great deal of tension emanating from that single word. I must not fail today.

Soon, we were at the door of the queen's apartments. I steeled my nerves and quietly opened the door before lifting the tray from the nearby cart. It was exactly 7:30 a.m: time to awaken the slumbering queen. As I was trained, I approached the bed, where the queen slept with her back turned to me. I gently set the tray on her bedside table.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," I said pleasantly in a tone that was neither too quiet, nor to shrill.

There was a stirring under the bed clothes, and the queen rolled over and sat up, adjusting the scarf tied around her hair. The blood in my veins turned to ice. There, sitting in the bed, was not the queen. It was a younger woman with hardly a wrinkle to be found. I gasped and jumped back behind Maude. She clamped my arm with an iron grip and forced me to stand beside her, smiling all the while.

"Good morning,  Your Majesty," said Maude pleasantly, "this is Anne, the new maid-in-training."

Have these people gone mad?!

The woman smiled and plucked a scone from the tray as she slid out of bed and sauntered over to the dressing table at the other end of the room. She eyed me through the vanity mirror.

"Well, out with it girl!" Her tone was almost mocking.

"Who are you?" I demanded, forgoing all propriety.

Maude brought out a wig form holding a gray, curly wig and set it on the nearby table, where there was an array of prosthesis and makeup. My stomach sank. Something was terribly wrong.

"Why, I'm Queen Elizabeth, of course! Who did you think you'd be serving?" she said with a laugh.

"Queen Elizabeth is 124-years-old!" I retorted angrily.

"And the Malvern water has done me good as you can see."

I approached her with trembling limbs, and she rose to meet me face to face. Her blue eyes were calmly trained on mine. They were vaguely familiar.

"Who are you really?"

A smile spread across her porcelain face, "Why, I'm Queen Elizabeth..." She pulled the scarf from her head, sending a cascade of red tresses falling around her shoulders. "The first."