There was something undeniably beautiful about her bare skin. Neither the particular shade nor the pink hues. No. The big, blinking letters that flashed each time he pinched it between his fingertips: FORBIDDEN. Yes. There was something humanly irresistible about touching something he couldn’t have. 

Or, rather, wanting it.

“Your hands are cold.”

In no way had he expected to claim first in this aspect. Head inflated to bursting, he placed palms to back. She yelped. He smiled. Spotting the imprints on her shoulder, he then perceptively asked, How long do you have?

Her laughter sent trills traveling down her spine. Humming against his fingertips. “Three hundred fifty-two days, eighteen hours, and twenty.” Vibration moving just out of reach as she took a glance at the holovision — muted. “Four minutes.”

A fresh layer of sweat gathered at her hairline. For each base conquered, a new spasm endured. He kept at it at her insistence. Heat still poured from her pores like a furnace. He enjoyed the warmth; though he’d never kiss and tell.

“I’ll be quicker next time.” He promised, lingering arms longingly affixed round her waist.

Shifting away from him, limbs left to chase after her escaping heat, she laughed again, “You’re fine.”

Ego popped, this act but one blister on her weathered feet, he turned the other cheek, “Aren’t I?” 

Kai was ready and willing to allow her another strike. Perhaps even a third. Their motives were clear. The high could only last a moment. She only had moments to give. And, right now, the Council was wasting them. Metaphorically ripping them to shreds gleefully.

“Are you not listening, your highness?”

“I could ask you the same.” Seething, she spoke through a clenched jaw, muscles straining to maintain her front. “You understand what you’re proposing, do you not?” 

The Council’s Supreme Court was every bit as unnecessarily extravagant as EXON news depicted. Golden chandelier hanging high. Eight pedestals circling around one chair — the wood of which splintered and cracked at each worn edge. Lions surrounding their prey.

All roared in response to her question. Reasons ranging from here to there. The reflexively defensive, “Of course we do!” and the ignorantly empty, “How dare you belittle this great Council!” She kept silent, despite the adjective of “great” causing a scoff to escape her lips. 

One of the eight noticed it. Wrinkles as deep as the troughs of the Northern Ytri Mountains, he spoke with a bellowing voice. All other lions cowered in solemn respect. Command of the room obtained once more. “Our interests are aligned with your own: a better future for Exo planet and its inhabitants.” 

“This might sound awfully childish and borderline possessive, it may even be my Rank 3 entitlement talking, but they’re mine.” She lied. “And I’m a firm believer that what’s yours may be yours, but what’s mine is irrevocably mine.”

If this were true, the planet would be full of Guinevere Callums. Mind your place and I’ll mind mine. Cross this line and prepare to die. Rhymes filled her head. Anything was better than the giddy thoughts of old men. 

“Attempting to return to your place as the figurehead of this planet’s government after a two year absence, in which many assumed you to be dead, is — well I’ll just say what we’re all thinking — questionable with such a sizable battalion at your beck and call. After consorting with a rebel faction, at that.” Vernon Milford’s, leader of the Council, gardener of the Capital, smile was so translucent it seemed sets of coiling nerves collided as he spit out, “Our Seeress understands her position, does she not?”

Ears ringing with each syllable, she said yes. Roars of laughter sent trills down her spine. She waited for his cold touch; its absence left her unfazed. Lions, tigers, bears, not a one could deter her from running headfirst towards her fate.

The signs were clear as day. Bed unmade on one side. Golden bangles and piercings strewn across either nightstand. Folded blankets and clothes neatly stacked on the couch. Her highness was a firm believer in cleanliness; anything to make Lay’s job easier.

“Why are you sleeping in her bed?”

Chen cornered Zhoumi, static from goose down pillows creating a bird nest atop his head. Zhoumi blinked slowly, not much of a talker. His clear distaste for the Guardians didn’t help.

“You’re surprisingly perceptive.” Zhoumi shuffled right. Chen followed suit. 

“The 70th Seeress of Exo kicks in her sleep.” Chen divulged, information discovered one morning years before. “Bone shattering kicks with the ability to make it look like a tornado ravaged her sheets the next morning.”

“Or perhaps a Sun Guardian slips in beside her without you noticing,” spiteful feelings festering, Zhoumi laughed despite himself, “and they ravage the sheets together.”

Chen sent him slamming against the wall. Electricity cackled, playing hopscotch on rows of whitening knuckles. Pain shot up Chen’s arm like a shockwave, nerves yelling for his show of prowess to cease. He endured, pushing past it because he needed to, “Why are you sleeping in her bed?”

He needed to make a difference himself. He needed to get used to doing that again. Starting with Zhoumi’s answer of, “The 70th Seeress of Exo tells me our arrangements here are only temporary.” Why? “She will soon be evicted from this grand hall.” By who? “By the Guardians of Exo Planet themselves."

Zhoumi had no reason to reveal this to Chen. She specifically told him not to tell anyone what she saw when Lay touched her a week prior. Zhoumi pitied her. To finally be reunited only to foresee another separation. Zhoumi wanted to understand her. After learning how misguided the Gardeners had been in their duty to the Tree of Life, dos and don’ts as manmade as the Council's Ranks of one, two, and three, he didn’t have the confidence to try. So he passed the task on to someone else. 

Unfortunately, Chen was just as stumped as he.

Time slots. Four Guardians every two hours. They picked their partner. They picked their opponent. Time slots.

It was easier to keep track of who was practicing and who, to put it simply, wasn’t. Suho played the role of drill sergeant. If anyone missed their sparring match, they received “special training” with him the next morning. Sehun was his project last week. Bruises peaked over the hems of his shirt, black fabric flapping as a whirlwind twisted mere feet from his face.

Tired. All four of them — Sehun, Xiumin, Chanyeol, and Kris — looked tired. Their bodies practically screamed with each step. Each exertion. Each breath in and out. I wouldn’t dare tell them to stop. Like Baekhyun, motionless beside me, I could only watch intently.

“Are you here to keep score or,” I paused, waiting for Baekhyun’s sunken eyes to acknowledge my existence. Spacing out apparently became a habit after I — well I’ll just say what we’re all thinking — died.

“Suho asked me to keep an eye on Chanyeol. Hit the lights if things get too heated.” He turned his gaze to the ceiling, contracted irises wobbling. “It’s more of a waiting game at this point. On. Off. On. Off. When? Not now. Just waiting.” 

The peaks of his exposed ears twitched at the sound of impacting ice. Chanyeol sailed through the air, crashing into a pile of rubble left after D.O’s bout earlier today. Baekhyun’s stare didn’t falter. Sparks fizzled out and caught life; the lightbulb above our heads flickered uncertainly.

“It took him ten years of constant practice to stop melting his toothbrush. Because who’s ever fully awake and focused in the morning?” Baekhyun offered a laugh. I didn’t reciprocate. He stopped.

“You’re not out there on the battlefield because?” 

The sparring room was no battlefield. Semantics. Something was wrong with Baekhyun. Until recently, he resided in Beleuch: an eco-friendly, hydroelectric haven for cavern fanatics. He’s getting reacquainted with the concept of the Sun, Kai’s pillow talk revealed, not that the Capital sees much of it these days. 

“Worried I might blind someone, is all.” Baekhyun offered a second laugh. He stopped himself this time. “Consensus says while Lay may be a prodigal genius when it comes to miracles, it’s best if no one goes blind. Can’t argue against that."

Kris juggled at the eye of Sehun’s and Xiumin’s hailstorm, barely managing to evade the claws of ripping ice. Flesh pinking, Chanyeol sprinted in headfirst to save him. Flames erupted from his very core, catching quickly. Destroying quicker. Clear skies returning, Kris torpedoed into his outstretched arms. 

“I’ve been practicing on flies though.” Baekhyun eagerly related. “It’s harder than it sounds. Those things’ve got over 4,000 lenses.” Pallid fingers pulling at discolored eye bags, he added, “Per eye.”

“I didn’t ask for a lesson on the anatomy of flies.” I joked at his expense. He looked devastated. Completely undone by my disinterest. I conceded for his sake. “But thank you for it anyway.”

Baekhyun saw through the facade. “Let me repeat: 4,000. Human beings have two — at maximum.” All lenses on me, he pressed the issue further. “You should be impressed.”

“Trust me. I’ve been colored with over 4,000 different hues.” 

I laughed, letting the smallest of thoughts by the firewall. Respecting the boundaries between public and private thought, I sated my curiosity with the tiniest one whispering below all the rest. Only then did I understand the reason behind the uncharacteristic rambling  and the borderline neurotic fascination with flies and all of their lenses.

“So you’ve become quite the awkward insect when it comes to small talk. No need to apologize, Baekhyun.”

Chanyeol was burnt out. Kris was knocked out. Sehun collapsed right there. Xiumin, breathing heavily, wobbled upstairs without a word. Twenty minutes and counting until Baekhyun’s “special training” session with Suho.

“I missed you.” Baekhyun suddenly confessed.

I couldn’t help but smile, “You slightly wish I were dead.”

“And I missed you.” Baekhyun cleared his throat, then went back to lightbulb watching.  On. Off. On. Off. He’d grown heartbreakingly good at waiting. On. Off. On. Off.

“It’s political suicide.”

Tao shook his head in disapproval, keeping my pink dress at arms length. A gift from the Council. There were accessories, too. The gift card read, “Looks are everything."

“How convenient then,” running fingers through wet locks, I laughed at his absurdity, “seeing as how this isn’t politics.”

Tao mimicked the action sarcastically. “This is politics, your highness.” All the while pointing at that neon pink. A flashing sign reading BAD IDEA. After all, as Tao so aptly pointed out, “The Council has you wear the dress you d—” 

No comment when I returned. Not even a single thought on the matter. Tao greeted me back with open arms. Quite literally. We hugged for a good five minutes straight. Other than this heartfelt sentiment, it seemed as though the past were the present. Unlike Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and Xiumin, he had no trouble readjusting to the burden of an entire planet hopping atop his back once more, demanding him to “giddy up.” Let’s just say Kyungsoo had a few choice words to say during dinner last night. 

Tao started over, “The Council has you wear the dress, stand in the ruins of the People’s Court, and give a speech reclaiming your position as Seeress of Exo?” He backpedaled. “It’ll make you look power-hungry and, as a result, weak.” Approached me. “It makes you look like a pawn in their sick game of chess to decide the fate of an entire planet.” Put trembling hands on my shoulders. "It makes—“

And I interrupted him, “It makes now the perfect time to make amends.” 

Slack jawed, the question “For what?” stumbled off his lips. I pushed past him, picking up the replica of my death dress along with its numerous jeweled additions. Following me out the door, he composed himself and asked again, “Your highness, for what?” 

Before the thought crossed my mind, it crossed his.

The last time you walked into a bathroom to powder your nose, I lost you. 

One second, he was behind me. The next, he was blocking me. Moon Guardian. The title looked good on him; the abilities lacked finesse. It suited him nevertheless.

“For what?” Tao pressed.

Truth flattened right out of me, I confessed, “By all the Suns and Moons, I’ll miss you, Tao.” 

I walked into the bathroom. I wore the dress. I stood in the ruins of the People’s Court. I addressed the people. I didn’t think it was possible to be more nervous the second time around. 

“Good morning, my fellow Exotians.” I started out, strong. Bad guys don’t say “Good morning.” This is about painting a picture. Twisting a story. Making a mole hill out of a mountain. “My ‘miraculous’ revival has been divulged to the entire planet over a breakfast too light for you to stomach it. I’m not here to kill that dead horse.” 

Or, at least, it was supposed to be.

“I’m interrupting you on your way to work or school or whatever new hobby you’ve picked up since we last spoke to say—.” At some point. “Stop!” I just started talking. 

And I certainly couldn’t stop.

“Stop as we stand here together again. Granted, on a less than bright and sunny morning than before, but here is where the future has brought us.” This speech wasn’t for me. “If we may take a moment to allow me to take a moment to celebrate life — life in this future with all of you. A handful of moments, if you would grant me that.” This speech was for them. “Do you hear it? The sound of the person breathing next to you. The Exotian living right next to you? We don’t have enough moments to celebrate such precious reminders of life.” 

Suho shouted something at me yesterday. It hurt. Sometimes it’ll hurt too much. That doesn’t mean we stop.

“Let’s make them anyway.”

A year. What we do in this year can change everything. A year. Where we’ll be in future years is determined now. A year. When we look back on it, it’ll seem so miniscule.

"As you go about your daily schedule, take a moment to say good morning to your fellow Exotian. Be so polite it’s annoying.” The tiniest of time frames. "Kill apathy with kindness. Leave no survivors in your greetings’ wake. Make a morning of it. Start small with the hopes tomorrow will be bright and sunny.” A lot can happen in one second. Just ask Tao. “Know it will be because you’re here. He’s here. Look, so is she. And you and you and you and us. We’re here. We’re making a morning of it, too. We are one.” Just ask anyone. “So I say good morning to you, my fellow Exotian. I’m starting small, but who knows what future awaits us?” 

Bowing until my bones ached, I almost choked on salt water when my second, “Thank you,” left my lips.

The Seeress of Exo.

Not once did I say those three heavy words. Not once did I recite the script given to me by the Council. I didn’t have to. Hours later, EXON news announced, on primetime holovision, the deal I struck.

According to the familiar woman with the sagging ringlets, I was, “Living up to her promise of small steps leading to big leaps for our future, the Seeress of Exo has relinquished authority over the Protectors of the Moon into the charge of the ruling government: the Council. In her own words, ‘May this bond between the people and its governing body work in tandem as the Protectors of the Moon and the Sun have since the earliest beginnings of the Tree of Life’s conception.'”

My own words took over the Capital like the Council during the People’s Riot: Make a morning of it.

There was no need to wait until the morning for the Guardians to make me wish I were dead. Slightly. I’m the type people miss. My life is worth celebrating. Slightly. It’s all "politics.” Nothing to cry over.