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

When the White House invitation arrives, Eleanor has just used the gold she's made from cotton futures to buy out a Northern Army transport. The stamped envelope contained, in addition to the dinner invitation, a half-dozen bloody lipstick prints-an exact match to the remnants of a Lincoln love letter she'd found in Dr. Voss's lab.

"Mom, this human named the President has a risk factor of 89%." CSA-01 scans the invisible ink on the invitation, "Plan B recommended: blow up Pennsylvania Avenue."

Eleanor, however, sews the cyanide capsule into a lace glove and turns to the black maid, "Mary, if I told you that in twenty years your great-grandson would be a Nobel Prize winner..." she wipes off the burn scar on the maid's face, "would you now be willing to prepare my the gown to die in?"

On the night of the banquet, Lincoln's hand, which was cutting the cake, trembled slightly when Eleanor entered wearing a diamond skirt sewn from a futures contract. Mary Todd stared dead at the sapphire necklace at her collarbone-the love token Lincoln had given his first love.

"You should try this." Eleanor held the champagne glass against the President's lips, the rim glinting with the blue light of cyanide, "This poison, purified from the new California mines, has a more...Union-unified flavor than arsenic."

Lincoln suddenly grabbed her wrist and licked the poison off the rim of the cup in full view, "I'll take fifty cups of traitor's blessing a day." His hot breath brushed the side of her neck as he whispered, "But you're the only one who puts poison on the pages of the Bible."

Suddenly, Mary Todd screams and falls to the ground in convulsions.Eleanor's sapphire necklace, which had been worn around the First Lady's neck at some point, is now oozing a ghostly blue poisonous mist. The moment Lincoln draws his gun to her temple, CSA-02 leaps from the chandelier, detonating all the gas lamps in the ballroom.

In the confusion, Eleanor rips open Lincoln's bowtie and discovers the mechanical code CSA-01 embroidered on the inside. Three hundred miles away, her journal is automatically writing a new prophecy, "When the rose at the president's bedside wilts for the seventh time, you will receive a funeral invitation from the future-your own."

Chapter 4: A Presidential Dinner Doused in Poisoned Wine