[ wp ] For Queen Elizabeth , every birthday requires the death of a very famous celebrity . However her 90th this year required far more .

Staring into the fireplace, she did not see the cold remnants of logs shoved to the side. One word would send servants scurrying to fetch fresh logs, and rekindle the fire. It would be comforting, but a waste of time. She never slept on the eve of her birthday. As with the others, she spent this night re-living the previous 89 birthdays. She could still see their faces. The shock. The horror. The... lifeless-ness. Beads of sweat were whisked away, finding their place on a crisp linen handkerchief. She clutched her shawl, tightening it around her shoulders. She felt like the charred logs before her. Used up, exhausted. The slightest of quivers tugged at her lips, she stopped it. This was no time to fall apart. She had to keep going. 
 
 Slowly she stood, working out the kinks and soreness that came from sitting in the same spot for hours. The halls would be quiet now. The castle residents maintained a sensible bed time, for the most part. An orderly house, was a reliable house. This night, she wished it wasn ’ t so. She longed for someone to knock on her door. Some savior to appear and stop this madness. Even if it meant stopping her... forever. She shook her head and released a deep sigh. It was not to be. There was no help for her. None but this. 
 
 On her end table, the black and gold pillar candle had appeared. That meant it was nearly midnight. She hated that candle. The delicate lace pattern, once fascinated her. Now the sight of it, made her stomach twist into a knot of acid and bile. It was much shorter than when she ’ d first received it, practically a stub now. How many years did that leave her? She shouldn ’ t smile at that thought, but the years weighed heavy on her fragile frame. She lit the candle, and took it in her hand. The flame emitted no warmth. Or if it had, it did nothing to ease the chill that settled into her bones. 
 
 She remembered her slippers this time. She stood by her bed, lit candle in hand. She waited. A soft grinding noise came from beneath the bed. It moved to the side, revealing the newly formed staircase beneath. She sighed. Sacrifices had to be made for the good of her family, her country, her world. Reminding herself of that, did nothing to prevent the heaviness of her heart. These sacrifices took a piece of her soul. With each step, her heart fell. When she reached the end of the staircase, tears had splattered her nightgown. She wiped them away hastily. That nonsense wouldn ’ t help things. She must find the inner resolve she ’ d had when this started. 
 
 “ One a year.. ” 
 
 “ On your birthday to make it easier to remember the date. ” 
 
 “ You ’ re certain it must be one EVERY year? ” 
 
 “ Or the seal will break, and he'll destroy everything. ” 
 
 “ Any other details you forgot to add to the laundry list of horror? ” 
 
 “ Remember they must be loved by the masses. The more public adoration they get – “ 
 
 “ The stronger the seal, I understand. ” 
 
 She walked down the dank stone hallway, lit only by her candle. After all these years, she could have walked it in complete darkness. Had it ever been easy to harden her heart? She couldn ’ t recall. For years she had been numb. The numbness had given way of late, to despair. It seemed there would be no end. No salvation. Soon the burden would pass to Charles. Or William. She froze for a moment, her hand on the door. Not William, his good heart couldn ’ t handle this. It would twist him into something else. Something dark. 
 
 She mustn ’ t think of that now. She'd delayed too long.. only seconds left before midnight. The door seemed heavier each year. Pushing it open, she knew she'd be sore for a few days. Inside she set the candle on the table. Light flickered, as flames rushed from the candle, igniting the seal on the floor. They jumped from the seal to the wall sconces. 
 
 “ Useless theatrics. ” She said, her voice echoing in the large empty room. In the center of the seal, the pedestal stood. Waiting for her to write the name in a book. The name she ’ d had a year to pick. She took the quill, pricked her finger and wrote. 
 
 D-O-N-A-L-D 
 
 Pricking her finger again for more ink, she continued 
 
 T-R-U-M-P 
 
 The flames erupted on the seal. The book placed on the pedestal melted into the floor. A stone table took its place. On the table appeared Donald Trump, restrained with chains. He was supposed to have been sedated. That ’ s the way it always worked. Not this time though. 
 
 “ Your Majest- where the heck am I? ” 
 
 A knife appeared in her hand. She raised it, high above her head. At least this was one she could be happy about. Something to celebrate on her birthday. She hesitated, still he was a life. 
 
 `` Woah, hey now. Put it down.'' 
 
 The door to the room slammed open. 
 
 “ STOP RIGHT THERE ” 
 
 “ What on earth ” She turned to see a thin young man in a suit and converse sneakers. “ How dare you! Explain yourself. ” 
 
 He was at her side in an instant, pointing a strange metal wand at her. Atop the wand, a green gem emitted a buzzing noise. 
 
 “ HAH! You ’ re the alien impersonating the Queen. I don ’ t have to explain myself to the likes of – well that ’ s weird. ” 
 
 “ What? ” 
 
 “ You ’ re not an alien? ” 
 
 “ No, wh- “ 
 
 “ Well then who is? ” 
 
 “ I ’ ve no idea what you ’ re talking about. ” 
 
 “ AW Come on Queenie, give up the dirt. I know most of it anyway. Every year at the stroke of midnight on your birthday a celebrity dies. I had thought YOU were the Klorkian Bzjorker, feeding on the death of a celebrity each year. Now my guess would be, it tricked you into sacrificing to it. Sneaky sneaky Bzjorkers. Well, I ’ m here to tell you my dear Elizabeth, you can stop now. I ’ ll send the rotten bugger on his way. ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t have to kill any more people? ” 
 
 “ Nope. ” 
 
 “ Thank you. ” Throwing dignity aside, she nearly toppled the skinny man with her bear hug. 
 
 “ Now let ’ s see who ’ s life I just saved. ” His wild eyes scrutinized the man on the table. After a moment, his mouth popped open. 
 
 `` Oh...'' The skinny man ran a hand through his hair. 
 
 “ Are you jack asses going to untie me, or what? ” Trump asked. 
 
 “ Oh. I see. Well, Queenie, maybe just this one more. ” 
 
 Elizabeth grinned. She raised the dagger, and plunged it into the man on the table. 
 
 After a few minutes of groaning, life left the man. 
 
 “ No walls for you Mister. ” The skinny man grinned. “ Well, that about sums it up. Still have to get rid of a nasty beasty for you. I ’ ll be on my way then. Lovely to meet you. ” 
 
 “ Wait.. who ARE you? ” 
 
 “ I ’ m the Doctor. ” 
 
 THE END 
 
 

