Cyrusngoo

21 century Wall Street financial analyst Victoria Clarke travels to the American South in 1861 in a car accident and becomes the infamous widow Eleanor Van der Lyn-a serpentine woman recorded in history as having been “hanged by the neck on the eve of the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln for treason”. Lincoln on the eve of his inauguration for treason”. She looks in the mirror at her original character's flaming lips and waist, and sneers, “A villain? No, I'll make both the North and South kneel and tremble under my skirt!”
Clutching the mysterious diary left behind by the original owner in her left hand (which records the dirty dealings between the Southern aristocrats and the Northern politicians), and carrying the three mysterious “adopted sons” in her right hand (which are actually the artificial war machines in the Southern secret laboratories), Eleanor kicked away Alexander Hawthorne, the plantation owner who tries to control her by marriage, and threw the champagne into her hand, and then kicked her out of the room. Hawthorne, who pours champagne on a slave-state legislator's marriage agreement: “I have only two rules for parenting: teach my children to level slave estates with dynamite, and teach them to turn Northern generals with love letters.”
--When the New York Times ridiculed her as a “slut stirring up the war through nepotism,” she took her adopted children to burn cotton fields live and force Lincoln to sign the Early Emancipation Proclamation; when Northern spies kidnapped her children, she backhandedly exposed the gold smuggling chain between General Grant and the Bank of the South, which was featured in the Washington Post. When Northern spies kidnapped her children, she backhandedly exposed the gold smuggling chain between General Grant and the Bank of the South, making headlines in the Washington Post: “Thanks to the arms sent by the enemy, I am now the first female arms dealer and interim Secretary of State of the United States of America.

Reborn as the Iron Queen: Love and Gunpowder in the Civil War

Victoria Clark was clutching a Federal Reserve rate hike report when she was hit by a drunk driver's truck in the 21st century. Opening her eyes again, the Georgia sunlight of 1861 was piercing the lace curtains and shining down on a delicate body wrapped in mourning garments - three wedding rings strung deep into her left ring finger, while her right hand clutched an ivory-handled flintlock pistol.

"Ma'am, here's today's Charleston Gazette." The black maid shakily handed over the paper, and the headline read in bold letters, "Poison Widow's Third Husband Dies Violently! Coroner Finds Arsenic in His Liver. It was accompanied by a portrait of "herself" leaning over the coffin in mourning clothes, a tearful mole at the corner of her eye resembling a drop of congealed blood.

"Eleanor Van der Lyn, congratulations on inheriting your late husband's entire plantation - and the reputation of being the one lady in all the South most eager to zap the villain's curse." A hoarse, cold laugh came from the mirror, and Victoria jerked back to find that it was the original owner's diary, hidden in a dark compartment of her dresser, vibrating. Turning over the yellowed pages, the first line made her pupils contract: "If reading this means that I have failed again...Remember, don't believe any man who compliments you on your eyes like sapphires, they only want to use your corpse to roll out the red carpet to the White House."

There was a sudden neighing of horses' hooves outside the door, and a group of southern militia in tricorn hats kicked in the oak door, the leader slapping a wanted notice on the casket, "It has been reported that you have been transmitting secret codes to the north! Come with us, or hang in a cotton field now." Victoria (or rather Eleanor) glances at her own bounty of $100,000 on the wanted notice and suddenly curls her red lips-this is much more exciting than the annual bonus from the Federal Reserve.

Slowly and methodically, she put on her black veil bowler hat and suddenly lifted the coffin flap. In the putrid corpse air, her third husband's swollen right hand clutched a half-letter of love, addressed under the private seal of Abraham Lincoln. "Gentlemen," she drew out the love letter and shook it in front of the militia captain's eyes, "instead of caring about my midnight telegram with Mr. President, why don't you think about how to explain...the Northern Arsenal gunpowder that's been on the soles of your boots?"

While the crowd froze, she grabbed the diary and smashed it into the crystal chandelier. In the explosion of fire, three dark figures scurried out of the fireplace doorway - the cloaked "foster children" with mechanical blue pupils, the youngest licking the corners of his mouth, "Mom, do you want to burn the left leg or the right one? You said last time that human joints are the most flammable."

When the smoke clears, all that remains is the militia captain nailed to a church cross with a bloodied headline stuck in his chest.Eleanor rips off her tired skirt supports and raises her flintlock rifle to the rising moon. Three hundred miles away, Abraham Lincoln was signing a draft order at the White House when the tip of his pen strangely snapped on the word "Emancipation".

"Didn't your history teacher teach you that?" She laughed softly into the void as the muzzle of her gun skimmed the rolling cotton fields beyond the plantation, "When capital comes to earth, blood and filth drip from every pore...and I, for one, happen to have a lighter with me.

Chapter 1: Dressing as the South's Number One “Black Widow”