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MacKensie enjoyed the flavours and the gentle burn of the stew as she listened to Alison speak on her favourite foods.  While she did not have much experience with airport food, she [i]had[/i] been to at least half a dozen famous restaurants across the world.  Italy had it's fair share of high-end dining establishments, however what specifically came to mind when Alison mentioned the country was cities like Rome and Venice - famously romantic locations.  And there was only one experience that MacKensie could relate to such a fine-dining tale and that was the very recent evening at The Nightingale.

Butterflies.  Mentally, she tried to shoo away the memories and she forced herself to actively listen to the American woman, letting out a light chuckle as Alison recalled wearing a dress for the first time in years.

"...Everything about it..." Alison went on.  MacKensie remembered how Zell had complimented her earrings.  How it made her feel.

"...the food..."  How he'd put his knife and fork down and randomly ambushed her with the most poetic and romantic soliloquy anyone had ever said to her.

"...the atmosphere..."  How she'd taught him a basic version of the Waltz that she'd learned when she was ten. How that had been more enjoyable than the most advanced ballroom dance, with the most advanced partner, in the most opulant social event she'd ever been to.

"...it was... "

[Colour=Pink][i]Magical.[/i][/colour] Alison briefly went silent and MacKensie's gaze fell to the table as she sank into her own thoughts.  Involuntarily, her eyes went across the table to find Zell looking back and she was wrenched back to reality with alarm, turning her head away immediately.  Fortunately, at the same time, Alison spoke again so the attention was on her and it was unlikely anyone noticed MacKensie's suspcious behaviour.

That evening was nothing to remember fondly.  It was not magical.  It was lies - One lie and empty platitude after another.  One big moral failing.  She hated Zell for it.  She hated that it had to be him that she'd bumped into at the blacksmith, of all people.  She would never forgive him.  She may not ever forgive herself.  [Colour=Pink][i]I have forgotten the face of my father.[/i][/colour]

She felt sick.

After looking forward, all morning, to this lunch date, MacKensie now found herself glad when it was over.  Outwardly, she maintained good form and was cordial throughout the goodbyes.  When Zell was at the bar, MacKensie wished everyone a good afternoon and made a sharp getaway to her room, facepalming the moment she was far enough up the stairs to be out of sight.

She had worked so hard to forget that night and restore a level head, so that she might actually concentrate on the priority that was the imminent threat of destruction.  And she had been doing so well until today.  But now the wounds were fully reopened.

[Colour=Pink][i]I hate him.[/i][/colour]  She went in her room and sat on the bed, burying her head in her hands.  [Colour=Pink][i]I hate him so much.[/i][/colour]