Name: Zelda MacKenzie.<br/>Willpower: 11.<br/>Corruption:  0%<br/>Favor Points: None<br/><br/>"I wish," said Zelda, with a small sigh. "Nothing interesting, nothing new, nothing exciting, just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. I think I'm going through an existential crisis or something." Slightly more dramatically than intended, she waled up to Mary's window and pulled the curtains up (not really thinking about the fact that Mary still hadn't put on a shirt). "Look out there," she said, motioning to the city landscape. "Have you ever seen such a dull and dreary sight? Everything's boring, except..."<br/><br/>And then she stopped herself, because her eyes had met Mary's. And the memory was there.<em> The drunken night last month. Zelda's bed. Hearts pounding, hands exploring, clothes on the floor. Heavy breathing, minds filled with all things soft and warm and wet. </em><br/><br/>Afterwards, they had pretended it hadn't happened. If she was to be honest, Zelda wouldn't have minded doing it again, but Mary had seized up and refused to talk about it -- and so they hadn't. But every now and then, the Memory would resurface, and there'd be a moment of awkward silence.<br/><br/>"Anyway," said Zelda, when the silence got a little too awkward. "It's Saturday. We should do something fun."