Miss Jean-Louis was born the daughter of the brief English king, Eddie 8, and Mrs. Wallis Simpson. Given the rigidly enforced morality of the time period, and the fact that Queen Vicky was his grandmother, the whole thing was hushed up. Luckily, the by-blow Miss Jean-Louis had her own remarkable talents, and had no need of the title “princess” that is her rightful due.
Luckily, Miss Jean-Louis met some ageless fella by the name of Rasputin or some such, and had her portrait painted via some mystical means. That portrait is stored somewhere in her attic, and she looks just the same as she did at 22. She swanned about Europe, doing the fashionable socialite thing, until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Her best friend, who may or may not have been called Anastasia, moved to Kansas in the mid ’80’s to hoax some tabloid reporters, and Jean-Louis was all alone in the world. Well, except for her royal relations, who generally sighed when she was brought up.
She then adopted a small nameless waif – a golem, really, or a shapeless lump of clay – which she gently shaped into the “human” known as actor Misha Collins. Her piece of art gained international fame, and – as puppet-master – she was forced to find a way to make her homonculous do her bidding. She calls this “babysitting” – everyone knows it means watching out for her creation.
The creation is entirely bonkers. And started a thing called Gishwhes. And its mad ravings resulted in the hunt our family traditionally does each August. That’s the story of (HRH) Miss Jean-Louis, child. You’re welcome.