Chapter 10
1918 Words
Louisiana, Southern United States
Located on the Gulf Coast, Louisiana is named in honor of Louis XIV, the "Sun King" of France, with the famous city of New Orleans known for its jazz and French colonial culture.
New Orleans has a unique flavor of French architecture, colorful streets and delicious traditional food, so that the "Adele Hugo story" is being filmed here in the cast and crew, in the tension of filming work in the spare time, but also have a rare life to enjoy.
When the filming of this story about Adele, the daughter of French writer Victor Hugo, who was so deeply in love that she was eventually destroyed by madness, finally ended on October 8, Marguerite didn't return to Paris or Los Angeles right away but chose to stay in New Orleans for a few days as if it was a rest and vacation.
She had put too much heart and soul into the role of Adele, and some of her repressed emotions were still affecting her.
More than once lately Margo has dreamed of experiences that were once not exactly pleasant, and several times she has struggled to wake up from them, and oddly enough, even some plausible scenarios have come up, like memories that she had forgotten, but which would disappear again when she woke up.
It was very strange, and she didn't feel like she suffered from amnesia, so she could only attribute it to being too deep into the scene for the time being.
Perhaps lazy, idle New Orleans would relax her.
New Orleans belongs to the subtropical humid climate, in early September when we just came here to shoot, the temperature is hot and humid, but also not move to a rainstorm, but at this time already in mid-October, it is very suitable for hanging out.
The streets of the French Quarter are a bit narrow, and Ajani, in a long blue dress, walks alone in the alleys with mottled old walls.
As for her troupe of bodyguard assistants and male models, they had been packed up and sent back to Los Angeles this morning, and Marguerite hoped she would enjoy her solitude.
Inside the neighborhood where the homes were close together, the carved balcony railings of the second-floor balconies were covered with green, draping flowers and plants, brilliantly colorful.
Some had floral Mardi Gras beads hanging from them, and the bird and animal statues and wind chimes placed among them looked like a secret garden.
When Marguerite was a sixteenth-century French princess, she enjoyed sneaking out of the Louvre.
She would walk the streets of Paris wearing a black mask that covered half of her face.
It was also such a small, tight, low house, and the mottled walls at this time had a mystery that was hard to distinguish from the years.
The street was lined with ornate or quirky antique stores, and Margaret was in one of the old handmade stores.
It sold gorgeous masks and silk decorations, and elderly women were sitting in the corners of the rooms making them by hand.
When Margot left, she had a small black silk mask on her face, covering her attractive forehead and nose, yet looking bewitching and mysterious.
The French-speaking Quarter of New Orleans has an incredibly ornate and decaying air, as if it has been through the ages.
Like Marguerite, who looks flamboyant and gaudy and has tasted far more tears than laughter.
Her whole life she has been used as a tool, her mother subjecting her to a political marriage for power, her brothers, never treating her as a sister, but with the delusion of turning her into a lover.
Her kingly brother, Charles IX, demanded that her future husband unconditionally allow Margot to live in the palace after her marriage in order to keep her by his side; and her other two brothers, the day before her wedding, were demanding that she not belong to her husband in the future.
Almost every day, since she was twelve years old, Marguerite was busy hiding from the covetousness of her three brothers.
In the impermeable Louvre, full of traps and arrows, every step she took was like stepping on a steel blade.
These experiences, which had brought her close to collapse again and again, had recently appeared in her dreams from time to time.
Marguerite should be grateful that coming to the twentieth century, despite the loss of her princess status, had finally made her less of a pathetic prey in the dark jungle of wounds and death.
And all this in exchange for some kind of deal from her mother, who perhaps indeed wasn't lying, and Margaret was indeed her favorite daughter.
It wasn't a lack of motherly love that Queen Dowager Catherine had used her time and time again in the old days, it was just that those feelings were so worthless compared to power.
This is also Margot on this deal has always been unremitting, to her understanding of her mother, if that man in a dark cloak, informed the Queen Dowager Catherine of the end of the Valois dynasty, in this deal, she should be the first to propose is to change the end of the Valois dynasty heir, so that she regained power.
Instead, it was to rid Margot of her tragic fate of infamy and send her to the twentieth century.
Marguerite was not presumptuous, but nineteen years at court had confirmed to her that--
Before being a great mother, Catherine de Medici was, first and foremost, the insidious, ruthless and unstoppable Regent of France.
And Margot can only find the supernatural creature to learn what kind of inside story this bizarre deal is hiding.
With all this in mind, it seemed wrong for her to indulge in another leisurely vacation.
An early return to Los Angeles and being in Hollywood was the way to go.
A life of hustling for money and power wasn't so bad, at least she got out of that Louvre and was reborn and free.
Margot in front of this ancient street, street side buildings with carved iron gate blocked, even the windows are brightly colored blue wooden boards covered, compared with the other side of the gorgeous stores, looks like a mysterious ancient city.
Centuries ago, this was the old town of the lazy Mississippi River.
Margaret didn't have time to explore the old place for a while, and since it appeared to be a private residence, it certainly wasn't open to the public.
But as she passed to the door of one of the old mansions, the black, carved iron gate unexpectedly opened from within.
An elegant, magnetic male voice rang out, "Marguerite de Valois."
Inside the narrow street, Marguerite looked in the direction from which the voice had come -
He was wearing a three-piece suit and was sitting in a black wheelchair, not looking too old, but his hair had completely fallen out.
The face was very beautiful, yet there was a sense of not being able to tell his age, and based on appearance alone, you would have thought he was at most forty, but that aura of vicissitude and full of wisdom, again, was not something that a man of that age could possess.
And his blue eyes are simply capable of captivating all beings.
When the corners of his mouth curved, it made you feel like your heart was melting in a lake of blue water.
But she wasn't in the mood to focus on the man's enigmatic age and beauty for the moment, "De Valois?"
The Valois dynasty ruled France from 1328 to 1589, and as descendants of Philip III, the family ruled both Burgundy and Poland.
However, as history passed, the Valois family became extinct.
Charles Xavier's gaze is gentle and relaxed, even with a hint of indulgence only in the face of children, "I never expected to see a real French princess one day."
He looked at the brunette leaning against the dark gray mottled wall--the
She looked as if she could lead a man willingly down the path of destruction; there would never be a more enigmatic classical beauty in the world, with eyes that the black silk mask could not keep out, that could almost shatter the hearts and souls of others.
"It seems the world is full of supernatural creatures." Margaret's tone was fairly calm, not irritated by being torn apart from her biggest secret.
Instead of acknowledging or refuting it, Charles gestured for Margot to enter the mansion.
Margaret certainly didn't want to talk about these things in the streets.
The man in the wheelchair obviously didn't need to deliberately trick her into a residence since he had the ability to know where she was coming from.
As she passed through a nondescript brick wall, the incredibly gorgeous sight in front of her was quite surprising--
The magnificent Spanish-style mansion, the courtyard is surrounded by Manly exotic flowers and plants, magnificent like a fairyland.
Margaret's eyes looked toward the man sitting in the wheelchair - on his beautiful face, his blue eyes looked like a blue lake.
Margaret frowned and inquired, "Who are you? Why do you know my identity?"
Charles didn't hide it, "You can call me Professor X, or Charles Xavier, I'm a mutant with telepathic ability, I can read other people's thoughts and memories in this way without physical contact, and your brainwaves are a bit different from normal people, so it was noticed by my brainwave search machine."
Turns out it wasn't a supernatural being, but a mutant.
Margot remembers seeing an interview with the mutant leader in the Washington Post last month, I think.
"I'm not a mutant, and you don't seem to have a need to show up here." Her tone was a bit cold.
Charles had an extraordinarily gentle and compassionate air about him, "Your memories have been partially missing since you were a young child, yet you've been completely oblivious to these things, and if that's man-made tampering, perhaps your experiences spanning four centuries aren't just random events."
Charles, who also possesses the ability to tamper with and erase other people's memories, springs to Margaret's attention because of this very incident.
And of all the creatures she had come into contact with, the man in the black cloak was highly suspect.
"Are you trying to say - I'm an unlucky man who's been targeted by supernatural beings for years?" Margaret inquired with a raised eyebrow.
Charles Xavier had met many mutants in his life who had been ostracized by humanity and suffered misfortune, and even among those, there were indeed few who had been more vilified than Margaret.
The French princess who, while alive, was embraced and loved by the French, claiming that one could not count a visit to Paris without having seen Marguerite, turned out to be known in later times as an absolute slut, a mad and wicked woman, and the queen of scandal in almost all of Europe.
Charles tries to comfort her, "Sometimes fate is too cruel to be just what God unwittingly intended."
"Fate?" The corner of Margaret's mouth quirked up, "I can't leave my fate in anyone's hands."
Her overwhelming beauty was breathtaking, like a sharp blade stabbing into your heart, and you had no room to resist.
Margot gazed at Charles, her voice soft and cold, "If fate has made me the absolute slut to be denigrated, then I will make sure it dies a death."
- Writer
