This was a little idea I had to write after one of my recent trips to the Mansion with AquarianWolf. At first, I really wasn't too wild about Constance and her character, but after recent rides, I've taken quite a liking to her. So I decided to write my own little story detailing about how I picture her life in her own memoirs. I'll be posting more eventually as I get it finished. And thanks very much to AquarianWolf for all her editing work and always adding any input to my stories! :)

Harlot. Gold digger. Lizzy Borden's sister. These are just a few of the horrible slanderous words that have been referred to me over the past number of years. Now I admit that in many ways I am not a model citizen, but I hardly think I deserve such filthy and smearing words as these to my good reputation. Which is why I have now taken it upon myself to sit down and fully outline to you, dear friend, the memoirs of my entire life. For the first time ever, you will hear the accurate and truthful retelling of my former mortal existence, without the distasteful propaganda against me. I'm confident that once you have heard the true and complete story, you will perhaps change your opinion of me greatly.

First, a introduction is in order of course. I am Constance Hatchaway: wealthy socialite, mistress of ceremonies, and an accomplished actress (especially on wedding nights.) Most stories begin with a description of childhood, but I think the less said about it, the better.

I had grown up in a small hovel within the middle of a sleepy farming community in Kansas. Although how much grew there I do not know, considering it was almost always dust bowl season. In my old idiotic childhood innocence, I suppose I was somehow miraculously happy on that pitiful farmland, yet I desired my parents' attention. For you see, to put it bluntly, my parents never wanted children. My father was a harsh man always wrapped up in his silly little drinking and gambling games, despite us being dirt poor, while mother was a fierce task master who controlled her life with an ironed fist. (Like mother, like daughter they always say.) Her and I often clashed heads together throughout my childhood, but one piece of advice she lectured lingered with me throughout my entire life - "Don't waste yourself on love. Marry for money, and lots of it. I married for love and look at where the hell I am now."

Her prophetic words made me ponder long and hard. Would I really want to be 40 years old, looking twice my age than I should be, with a destructive alcoholic for a husband who would destroy my happiness? I was determined not to become my mother and live a squalid wretched life.

Eventually, life progressed, and I put up with my parents' quarrels and sneering attitudes. To me, the sounds of raised voices and flying frying pans was no different than hearing the birds in the trees. Finally, upon reaching my sixteenth birthday, and now forever done with that cramped and stuffy school house, I planned to leave that depressing little shack in the middle of who-knows-where. I was giddy in excitement of the anticipation. Now, it was my time to live my own life and see the world! Unfortunately, being raised in a poor family left me with one little disadvantage...I had no money to do any of it.

So I simply sat there in that menial little hovel, continuing to help mother out with her maudlin little chores, for about the next year. Each day I yearned to be free and run away from that disgusting shack, but with no money at my disposal, it looked as if my life was officially over.

Until one fateful day, when it appeared as if by some sheer stroke of dumb luck, my father had purchased my ticket to society. A new gentleman in town had just recently purchased a large estate nearby, and somehow joined up with my father's poker buddies. How a man with such high finance and of elite social strata chose to socialize with father still remains a mystery to this day. In any event, the wealthy gentleman went by the name of William Harper, a wealthy farmer and plantation owner with estates in Kansas City and New Orleans, and a large steamboat and shipping company on the Mississippi.

Having mortgaged our house to the hilt (and running out of items to gamble with) my stupid cow of a father bet that if he lost, William's son would have my hand in marriage. Naturally, with the Hatchaway family streak of luck, he lost, and then told me of the turn of events. Of course, that evening I was absolutely furious and practically refused to speak at all to him for about a week...until that day arrived.

Having arrived on an afternoon train, William and his son, Ambrose, paid a visit to our dirt farm to be introduced to his "blushing bride to be." Ambrose himself was quite a meek and timid little man; plainly dressed, and rather drab in personality himself. He tried to make small talk and conversation, droning on about some ridiculous butterfly collection, and how many 20 species he had collected. I retained my sanity though by directing my attention to William himself. The elder Harper was immaculately dressed, as he prattled on to my parents about his multiple farms and houses in the Louisiana, Arkansas, and Missouri area, along with his entire fleet of ships on the Mississippi. My parents hung onto his every word with wide eyes, their lips almost seeming to lick at hearing the words in greedy ecstasy. I must admit I was rather interested as well as Mister Harper praised on about his life like some great storyteller. Marriage might not be so bad after all...

A few months had passed and Ambrose and I were soon wed. I finally gave my parents one last farewell before leaving them forever out of my life, and settling in Kansas City with my new husband. I admit that while first impressions were very mixed, I eventually grew to like the company of the little dullard. While he wasn't particularly interesting or personable, I will admit he was very romantic. He tried to serenade me in the evenings (despite his nauseating warbling voice), and he even presented me with the most darling string of pearls I had ever saw. (And who am I to hurt anyone's feelings and refuse such a beautiful gift?) And while he wasn't always particularly fascinating to be around, I did manage to keep busy with meeting some very influential and fascinating people at cotillions that William had hosted for us.

Unfortunately, tragedy struck. My poor dear daddy-in-law was soon stricken sick with a sudden illness and passed on within a month. I admit I was very heartbroken for a short period...but eventually that all trickled out when I found out that Ambrose and I would get the bulk of his pappy's estate. We now had all the wealth we could have at our disposal; except Ambrose wouldn't allow it. That little stick-in-the-mud was always so frugal with everything! "Now Constance dear, we need that to pay for momma's medicine! Now Constance dear, we need more money for the company's assets! Now Constance dear, we need the money for a doctor for momma!" On and on and on! I knew Ambrose had cared for his sickly little old mother, but this was getting to be ridiculous! Just because the woman had smallpox, dysentery, the measles, and now had to be in a wheelchair with polio, that somehow makes her more important than me?! Well, I wouldn't have any of that.

The final straw came one evening when Ambrose returned home from the factory. On one of my strolls through town that afternoon, I had seen one of the most gorgeous pieces of diamond jewelry you had ever laid eyes on. I pleaded with my darling for money to purchase it the next day...but what did he do? "I'm sorry Constance dear, but we need that money to fix momma's wheelchair so she doesn't fall out again." That was all I could take of it. Without showing any contempt at all for my shattered heart and desires, that smug little bastard just walked right on by me, and headed upstairs to take a nap. How could he do that? How could he deny a poor little neglected farmer's girl the one thing she always desired? Jewelry...and I suppose some love too.

Not knowing exactly where I would go, I stormed out of the house and into the backyard, plopping myself down by the riverside. I sat there for a few minutes scowling and staring off into the river as the waters flowed down the stream and into the city. As I gazed into the dark water, my mother's voice suddenly seemed to harken back to me. "Don't waste yourself on love. Marry for money." Lifting my head up and gazing toward the house, I then noticed it as if it had been divine providence - the handyman's hatchet left buried into the stump of a tree. I grinned in delight at the thought of it. Stripping the blade from the wood, I stared at the gleaming tool in triumph. After all, would anyone miss such a boring little man other than his dear old mommy dearest?

Carefully treading my way back into the house, I silently slipped up the staircase to the bedroom. No witnesses, no disturbances; just Ambrose and I all alone in the house. It was perfect. Creaking the door open, I daintily tiptoed my way in as my dear hubby snored his head off soundly. I raised the blade high over my head, but then hesitated as I gazed down at him. Was this really the right way out? Did I really want to end this poor man's life just so I could have a few more measly thousand dollars to myself? You bet I did!

WHACKITY WHACK!

The blade came down, and a loud thump signaled his head rolling off to the floor. The whole affair was more of a bloody mess than I had anticipated, but what are you gonna do? At least the deed was done, and I was feeling free once again. And more importantly, wealthier! I needed a good alibi however, and a place to dump the body. Making sure no one was in sight, I dragged the corpse out into the backyard, and with caution threw it into the river, along with his head. By the time morning had come, someone was sure to find it in the harbor. And with the river passing more than 20 houses, there was no chance they could have proven it was me. I quickly then dashed upstairs to our room, and hurriedly tidied up the place, along with disposing of the sheets. For a moment I considered dispatching with the weapon as well, but looking at that hatchet made me smile - it made me wealthier than I had ever imagined before. I made sure to give it a proper cleaning, and then stashed it out of sight. Being the dutiful wife I pretended to be, I alerted the police in alarm that my husband had not come home yet this evening. The fools immediately bought it, and went out to search for him as I danced merrily about the mansion.

The next morning, as I had predicted, the body was found floating in the harbor and the police informed me of the news. Of course, I displayed the act of the poor grieving widow for the next few weeks, acting so terribly solemn and wailing as loud as I possibly could. (As I mentioned before, I'm an accomplished actress.) With the case unsolved, and no witnesses to attest to what happened, I skipped merrily about scot free with half of the Harper fortune now completely mine. (Apparently, the old hag received the other half as stipulated in Ambrose's will. A momma's boy to the very end.)

But you know, money is such a funny thing. It runs out so fast. Between my balls and parties, new dresses and jewelry, I had almost completely gone through my share of the fortune within that year. I needed more money, but where to find it? Ambrose had left all his companies to his vice-presidents or business partners, so no revenue would come from that. And me, being now a prim and proper lady of high society, certainly wasn't going to lower myself to...ugh, labor. The most obvious solution was only one thing: marry another disgustingly rich slob.

But it sure wasn't going to be in some dreary little city in the middle of the United States. I needed a change of scenery, and most importantly, a change of wealthy men. At one of my recent parties, a duchess informed me of her most recent visits to our nation's capital. She drawled on about how some of the wealthiest of our politicians were absolutely swimming in money, with acres of land around. Naturally, that was all that I needed to hear. Taking what I had left of my dear late husband's money, I sold our mansion, and headed eastward...