The Laveau

Jolie:

**John returned to me in 1810. This time his name was Jacques Paris and he had migrated to New Orleans from Haiti. We met one day when I had gone out to the market, I needed to buy some herbs. There was a moment when I felt that someone was watching me, I turned in the direction my senses indicated and I saw him. I swear the earth stopped turning, the other people in the market seemed to disappear...
Oh, I by the gods, my first impulse was to throw myself into his arms and kiss him desperate right there, but I held back. He came up to me and introduced himself, taking off his hat. His clothes were clean but I noticed they were old and threadbare.
The economy of the state of Luisana had declined sharply due to the lack of work on the plantations, without sustenance from slaves work (despite various attempts to reactivate it through paid labor) from white French-speaking immigrants, thousands of slaves, and also free African Americans.
I understood immediately that he was suffering hardships due to lack of employment. Our roles had been reversed, this time I was the wealthy mestizo and he was the poor white man.
He began wooing me, bringing me beautiful sunflowers every morning, behaving like a gentleman through and through. Every day his presence made me burn with the desire to pounce on him or charm him into making love to me as unbridled and passionately as I had longed for so long. His courtship lasted three months, I spoiled his intentions to prolong it for other two by going to his modest little house and shamelessly undressing before him. He couldn't resist. He wanted me as much or more than I wanted him.
We got married in the Cathedral of San Luis, afterwards, we spent a whole year on our honeymoon. We were unable to keep our hands off each other. I was never happier than waking up in his strong embrace in the morning and going to sleep with his sweeping kisses and passionate caresses every night.
**
* I know that crazy passion very well, I experienced it first hand not long ago. With Alex. *
I smile. If I weren't so dark skinned, I'd be redder than a tomato right now.

**My loving husband learned of my mastery of magiks and appreciated my arts once again. Over the years our love debauchery became softer, more delicate. I couldn't seem to get pregnant and suffered the unspeakable due to not being able to give children to my beloved John in this one, his second life.
He became ill with cancer in 1820.**
*I bite my lip. Oh no...*
**I cursed my cruel fate. Ten years, having my beloved in my arms, enjoying his caresses, drinking his breath had been allowed to me for a measly ten years. I denied the promise I had made to him previously and forced him to drink Aqua Vítae.**
My eyes widen in shock
**By feeding it to a human who was not capable of magick dominance, the potion had unforeseen effects on both of us. My husband was cured of cancer but suddenly aged twenty years and lost all memory of our relationship. I had to fake his funeral and keep him hidden in our home’s basement for a while.
For my part I lost the gift of clairvoyance.
**
*Horror!*

**However, the adverse effects of the Aqua Vítae had not ceased. My beloved began to regain the memories of his past life. He suffered, tormented by visions of himself, of his arguments with his father for my sake and mourned the memory of our children whom we had not been able to see grow up.
He came to hate me, not because of my mastery of forbidden arts but because of my breaking the laws that govern the use of my powers. I tried to make him understand that I could not bear to lose him again, that I would die of despair if he left me.
He took the name of Christophe Dumesnil de Glapion and remained by my side as my lover. Such was his disappointment at my betrayal that he would never marry me again.**
*What an extremist guy. That's no way to reward her for saving his life. Men! You can't live with them ... or without them.*
**Our friends frequently commented on the great resemblance Christophe had with my late husband Jacques. It was incredible to them that two men so alike could exist. However, they never suspected that they were exactly the same person.
Jacques and I had appeared to be the same age at the time of his supposed death, about thirty-eight years old. Christophe, as a result of what happened, was a man in his early fifties. His hair, that had been brown turned gray, giving him the appearance of a much older man.
In 1821 and at the age of thirty-nine I gave birth to my twins. My husband would stare at them proudly,while they sleept in their crib. From the moment of their birth I knew the girl would have great gifts for the use of magiks, the boy on the other hand, became my husband's favorite. Being our first-born he occupied his father's heart almost completely. We baptized them with the names Arcange Edouard and Marie Katerine Glapion.
A year later the youngest of our daughters Marie Isabelle Glapion would be born.
As our children grew, the girls always showed greater attachment to me than to their father. As much as I tried to get close to my little Arcange, his inability to master magiks, his instinctive caution of our abilities, and his father's favoritism led him to withdraw emotionally from his sisters and me.
In 1830 I was proclaimed "Queen of Voodoo” in New Orleans and served under that title until 1835, the year I lost my beloved. Product of the bursting of a cerebral aneurysm.
He had gone to sleep, tired and suffering from a severe headache. He refused the drink I prepared for him with the intention of alleviating his pain, fearing that I would deceive him again and give him Aqua Vítae to drink. The next morning when I woke up I had him dead by my side.
I cannot describe the pain I experienced in the face of such irremediable loss. My heart, which had already been broken after my trial in England, was reduced to dust this time.
I wouldn't find him again. My soul mate had already enjoyed the two lives that mortals are allowed. He will not return to this world. He has joined the stars and his light shines too far from our world to be perceived by me. Oh terrible fate. Oh cursed past and horrible present! How long would I have to suffer? How far would I have to drag my mourning soul?**

Yoleandra's writing, so clear and legible, has become shaky and charged with feelings. My tears fall on the pages. For a few minutes I share the pain and the enormous sense of emptiness she experienced for so many ensuing years.

**The first time I lost him, I was comforted by the reality that some of our children still needed me, they were still very young, and the hope of his return had been a flame burning inside my chest. But this time I had neither of those two circumstances to serve me as consolation.

I locked myself in our home, not having the strength to continue. I did not want to continue leading the existence I had maintained for so many centuries. I went into such a state of despair and grief that my daughters were forced to bathe and even feed me. They cared of me with love and they began little by little to attend to the demands of the clients who continued to call at our door requesting remedies.
Meanwhile, Arcange carried out different errands and small tasks for wealthy people and thus earned an amount of money which he saved for years.
To justify my absence and lack of attention to clients, my daughters said that I was seriously ill, I was left for dead and falsely buried at the age of 41. However, what had been broken was my spirit, not my body. I took the name Marie Glapion Laveau and continued practicing my arts less and less.
Finally, my person was waning, my powers seemed to slowly fade and my fame diminished. In 1874 my eldest daughter took over my place completely, I handed her the star stone and she assumed my mantle as voodoo queen in a public ceremony that drew 12,000 spectators to the banks of the New Orleans bayou. Inspiring more fear than I had ever caused and enjoying even greater renown than I ever did.
In 1852 my son Arcange, at the age of 32, emigrated to Cuba and settled in Havana. Since then he has been kept irregular correspondence with his sisters, yet he rarely inquires after me. I can't help but think that I earned my son's contempt.
By June 1881 I look like an 86 years old lady. My body is finally ready to rest and I long for the peace that will embrace me when I’m finally allowed to rest. I have had the last two visions of my life, a few weeks ago , in the first one I saw myself, being followed by the shore of the very white beach by the blood-drinking demon whom I created, as young as I had been at the time of his conversion. In the second vision I was showed the angry face of a very young boy, who was holding a dagger against the neck of a girl unknown to me.
My end is near, there is no other explanation for such a sudden flash of clairvoyance. So, driven by that inevitable reality, I decided to write these memoirs.
I hope they will guide my beloved daughters Marie Katerine and Marie Isabelle, so that they do not fall in the same mistakes I did. I have instructed them to seal the book with magic, making it impossible for anyone who is not related to us to read it and thus keeping my memories intact until the arrival of my heiress.
I was blinded by my powers for too long. Now, on the edge of the abyss, I finally understand it. Our gifts were not given to us to serve as weapons, we have not been called to be judges, much less executioners.
I cursed the Macedonian with a half-life in punishment for his arrogance and fate snatched my most precious love from me too soon, not once but twice.
In pursuing notoriety and fame I only achieved persecution, in sowing chaos and death I only reaped my loneliness.
And now my dear me ... you will have to pay with more suffering for my atrocious mistakes. Since John has already traveled his path and is not coming back, you are doomed, we both are.
You are chained to the worst and blackest of convictions. You have to face the rest of your life without love.
**
I have finished reading the Grimoire, biting my lower lip to keep from crying.
I'm cursed!