Summary: A restless night brings Claire more than she bargained for when she decides to take a late night stroll. (Secrets Universe).

Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon, the characters, or anything you recognize. The plot, universe, and anything you can't recognize are all mine.

First Impressions

It had been six days since she arrived in the valley, time enough to establish a bit of order in her new home. Clothes were unpacked, furniture dusted, and she had finally made a little headway with the fields which had grown wild and thick with weeds in the months they had remained untended. It was a grueling process, long hours of farm work taking a toll on her body as rarely used muscles ached and protested the abuse. It left her leaden with exhaustion and ensured that each night she fast asleep by sunset. So it was odd, that today of all days, Claire found herself unable to sleep.

It was a quarter-past nine in the evening yet her body thrummed with unusual energy keeping her awake and alert despite her weariness. It was an almost anxious feeling, not unlike the nights she could recall as a child waiting for her mother to arrive from an especially long day at the office, peeking through the crack in her bedroom door, fearful of being caught by the nanny. But there was no mother to wait for here, nor a father, she thought plaintively. The latter was lost to her forever, stolen in a tragic accident only two months ago.

At least he's in a better place, she consoled herself, though the words felt hollow. How could he be in a better place away from them? Divorced from the lands he cherished and the family he loved? It didn't make sense to her, much in the way many religious ideas didn't make sense to her. After all, didn't the Kristin religion she grew up with tell her faeries weren't real? That if such tings existed they were evil things spawned of hell?

But if such a thing were true, what then of the gentle faeries she recalled of her childhood with their strange dragonfly wings and chime-like voices? Never had they harmed her, offering only help and even going so far as to heal the cuts and scrapes she earned exploring the woods as a child. And what of the strange tools her father claimed were faerie gifts given to an ancestor long past? The very tools she used to work these fields?

But then she was crazy. They both were according to her mother−hell, according to everyone! Or, at best, too filled with the foolish mysticism of the Eirish people. It was in the blood, her beloved Papa born and raised in those green hills, brought to this land only after old Takakura breathed his last, having left sons too city-raised to care for a simple life of farm-work.

Claire didn't have such problems. While the city she grew up in would always hold a special place in her heart, she never felt as alive as she did here in this valley. Surrounded by the rich green of fertile fields and thick woods, she felt better than she could remember and healthy as a horse! Something decidedly rare for someone who spent the early half of her childhood sick, ferried in and out of hospitals before being diagnosed with both chronic anemia and a serve iron allergy.

Perhaps then it was her renewed health that left her so restless, her body unaccustomed to functioning with such vitality. Or perhaps she was finally getting used to the burdens of farm-work. The blonde would like to think so. She had finished early just the day before, finally managing to explore the village and meet more of the residents than just the bartender and waitress who had supplied her meals so far. Better yet, she was finally getting the hang of her father's mysterious tools, learning to unlock the secrets of their power so that one stroke of the hoe seemed to magically till ninety rows instead of the ten she had managed before, saving her a lot of time.

It was odd and more than a little creepy the abilities of those tools. Sometimes she feared her mother was right, that she was crazy and it was all a delusion concocted by a mind too filled with fantasy. It seemed frightfully likely. No one else noticed the strangeness of her tools. Hadn't even Vesta, the neighboring farmer, remained oblivious to the way the earth grew furrowed by some unseen force despite having been inches from her when instructing her on how to work the farm? Hadn't the burly woman then expressed how fortunate she was to have a horse well-trained enough to help plow the fields undirected despite the fact Claire saw the Fjord-mix grazing placidly in her pen?

What other explanation was there but magic or a more likely case of insanity?

No one else ever saw the things she did. No one but her Papa.

She got up crossing the room to turn off the battered old television her father had loved, fingers lingering on the dial. It was one of the few electronics he said never broke on him. Everything else seemed to malfunction after a while, a peculiarity she too had inherited. She blinked away tears. Their little super-power, he called it, cheering her up every time the light bulbs would suddenly die or the TV went out. Her mother mostly complained, frustrated at the expenses that particular super-power caused.

Bare feet slapped against the smooth, hardwood flooring as she paced once more, attempting to work off some of that restless energy. She was beginning to feel suffocated all of a sudden, the house too filled with old memories, the walls too close, too confining. She had to get out, away from this place, a sudden impulse pulling her towards the door as she grew desperate for the night air. Claire shook her head, hand stilling on the knob. She couldn't just leave like this, barefoot and clad only in a delicate chemise. She'd be arrested for public indecency (not that there was any police force in this village or a jail to be thrown into)!

Dashing upstairs she dragged on a pair of old jeans, throwing on the jean jacket she had tossed in the laundry hamper and slipping on her shoes. The impulse pulled at her, forcing her to run down the stairs and out the door, breathing an audible sigh of relief as the pressure eased once outside. Yet she was still restless, some sixth sense tugging at her to move so that she found herself walking down the hill and into the village. Each step seemed to release some of the tension in her shoulders, the cool night air soothing against a body she just now realized had been running too hot. Midway towards Ramona's mansion, she felt her steps slowing to a more moderate pace, her feet bringing her closer and closer to the white stone gates as she felt that nervous energy begin to transform into something like excitement.

Compelled, she drew towards the fountain, enthralled by the play of light amongst those dark waters and her fingers reached out to skim that glittering surface. Yet something else was demanding her attention, her gaze was pulled magnetically to the mansion as her blue eyes drank in the elegant stone façade and the beautifully carved wood doors, halting on the curtained window above. Excitement trilled through her, the very air seeming to vibrate with a strange intensity like the speeding of the strings just before a spectacular conclusion in an orchestra. Every sense of hers was trained on that point with a singular intensity.

Then she saw it. A tall, svelte figure in black jumping down from that same window, landing with such grace even a cat would be envious. The figure stood with a boneless ease, then stiffened, turning swiftly to give her full impact of its gaze. She gasped, heart lurching into her throat.

Before her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

His skin was like moonlight, his long hair so pale it gleamed silver, and his eyes−dear God! His eyes were the purest, ice blue, and for one dizzying moment she thought they glowed, swirling with deeper hues like the shifting of the sea. She blinked and it was gone, leaving only blue eyes set in a face so delicate it should have been feminine. Yet he wasn't. Not at all. Some feature marking him as undeniably and irresistibly male.

He smirked, noticing her attention, and she gasped again, the expression making him even more beautiful, even more tempting than the frown before. Hands in his pockets, he stalked forward unnervingly predatory, and she felt her heart thudding wildly in her throat. Every nerve-ending was alive, age old instincts prompting her to escape, but she couldn't her body frozen as he drew closer and closer until she could smell the richness of his scent. She could only gape as he stood before her, top buttons of his shirt undone to give tantalizing glimpses of his chest.

He chuckled, flicking his hair back to give her full view of his face. "Hello beautiful," he greeted silkily, his voice decadently dark. "Taking a midnight stroll? Such a lovely lady shouldn't be walking alone at night." He teased, further invading her space and her body burned where his brushed against her. "You never know if some brigand is afoot."

The phrasing was oddly formal to her, his words lilted with an indistinguishable accent. She tried to place it but her mind wasn't up to the task, the thoughts slipping away like water through a sieve. His fingers brushed her arm, reaching for her cheek and as it approached her something in her snapped, the fog clearing from her mind and restoring her senses. She scowled, backpedaling before he could touch her, one hand lifted as though to warn him away. "Who," the sound came out thin and she coughed to clear her throat. "Who are you?"

The gorgeous man frowned at her reaction, silver brows furrowed as he looked at her appraisingly and for a split second Claire thought she felt something warm and tingly against her skin. Then the sensation was gone as quickly as it came, leaving her wondering if she had felt it at all. Self-conscious, she rubbed at her arms, fidgeting as his gaze grew intense, and her cheeks colored with embarrassment.

This seemed to amuse him, his body relaxing again and the blonde let out a breath she didn't know she held. He chuckled again, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "Who am I? I'm quite the ladies' man and a prince of the stars." He smirked, cockier than before. "Though I'd be more than happy to be your prince charming, princess."

"T-that's alright!" She protested hastily, retreating as she noticed how much closer he was. "No prince charming needed!" It was too much, the poor blonde unable to take such blatant flirting, especially from such an incredibly attractive male. None of the boys she'd met had ever been so… so… Delicious? Her mind offered. Yummy? Hot as fucking hell? Claire shook the thought away, having enough trouble concentrating without the little lecherous corner of her mind giving her ideas.

"Are you sure?" the handsome man purred, seeming to enjoy pursing her for he stepped closer. "I can−"

"Hey!" A voice called, causing them both to turn. A short girl was running from the mansion dressed only in a long white nightgown, her dark hair mussed and expression cross. As she ran closer, Claire finally recognized her, mind having trouble reconciling the quiet, impeccable young heiress to the disheveled and loud girl before her. "You're that famous thief aren't you? The one that warns his victims ahead of time?!"

Claire's eyebrows shot up, spinning back to face the similarly shocked thief before her. But he didn't seem worried, quite the opposite, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he recovered himself.

"A thief?!" She exclaimed, realizing at last what the all-black outfit was for, though, if she were honest, fine silk and shiny shoes were hardly what she'd expect a thief to wear. And he wasn't even disguised, features on full display for everyone to see!

"Ah! Another lovely lady!" The thief grinned, shooting them both a coy glance. "Sorry but I'm a bit pressed for time tonight. I'll have to give you beautiful maidens the attention you deserve another time. Got to jet!" He announced merrily, giving a little bow and turning on his heel to walk past the gates.

"Wait!" Someone called, and Claire realized the voice was her own, her mouth moving faster than her brain.

The silver-haired thief turned back, raising a brow in askance. "Yes?" When she didn't reply, he smiled, flashing teeth that looked almost pointed in the dark. "Ah, apologizes, darling. I forgot to introduce myself. Call me the Phantom Skye." He winked, inspiring a new bought of blushing from the still shocked blonde. "I have a feeling we'll be meeting again." He pointed towards the sky. "It's in the stars after all!"

The statement should have been funny, but instead, said in that damnably delicious voice of his it seemed seductive. Almost like a lover's promise. Claire fought the urge to shiver, gaze riveted on him as he leisurely made his way down the cobbled path. Suddenly Lumina whipped past her, surprisingly fast for someone wearing slippers.

"Stop right there!" The heiress yelled, irritation plain in her tone, and Claire could only blink as she watched the demure girl she had met the day before show yet another unexpected facet of her personality. "You stole from us didn't you?!" She accused, gesticulating wildly. Obligingly the thief stopped, waiting until the brunette caught up with him before resuming his pace. "Stop. There. Thief." Lumina panted. The Phantom Skye turned to smile at her, stopping briefly. The air around him seemed to almost shimmer and for one moment startling moment Claire thought she him replaced saw his eyes glow again and his skin grow so pale it was luminous.

"Hold up, beautiful, no need to tire yourself." He said offering the girl his hand and helping her brace herself as she caught her breath. "Don't let such raw anger steal away your beauty."

The heiress stilled eyes hazy and cheeks flushed as the thief caressed her knuckles lightly and bid her goodbye. "Oh…oh my." She murmured, holding her hand to her chest. "What a smooth talker…" The brunette sighed happily, gazing on longingly as the thief disappeared down the path. "The Phantom Skye…"

Claire looked on perplexed, and gingerly made her way towards the heiress, tapping her on the shoulder. "Lumina?"

"Huh?" The young woman looked at her dumbly. "Claire?" The brunette frowned as recognition set it. Her eyes widened comically. "Oh my God! The Phantom Skye! He got away from me!"

"Yes." Claire confirmed, fidgeting. And you let him. Her inner voice finished accusingly. She shook her head. This night just kept getting stranger and stranger by the minute.

A smile snuck upon the young heiresses face, replacing shock as her brown eyes turned back towards the path. "Wow... That thief was so cool..." She commented, blushing. "And so handsome."

Not just handsome. Claire's inner voice chimed in again, her thoughts turning to muscular thighs encased in near scandalously tight pants and a pale, hairless chest perfectly framed by rich dark, silk. Sooo much more than handsome.

She didn't share her thoughts though, instead bidding the heiress a quick goodbye and heading down the path herself. Late as it was, the sky was fathomlessly dark and heavy with stars, their pale light reminding her of the pale hair of their mysterious thief. Prince of the stars indeed. She thought. He certainly had the hair for it. And the skin. God, he was so beautiful it was inhuman! If she didn't know better she'd think he were an angel.

An angel….

But… no…. no. It couldn't be. She had never seen an angel and surely if they existed they weren't thieves of all things. More like a devil in that case. She thought. But that couldn't be right either. Demons and devils, if what she learned in all those Sunday school classes was right, were vile, ugly beings that delighted in the destruction and death. If he had been a demon surely both she and Lumina would have been dead.

He was probably human. No he was human! She couldn't let herself think that way! It wasn't normal! He was an incredibly beautiful human, but human. The unimaginably silver hair was probably really platinum blonde in the proper light, his eyes the rare blue typically found in the northern countries which would also explain his skin. That is, if it weren't a wig. Another probable solution to a probable situation. It would make sense, given his occupation.

His occupation. A thread of anger went through her at the thought. God! What an idiot she was, losing control over herself at the sight of an attractive man. To think she had been tempted to let him touch her. Had been tempted for a heartbeat to do oh so very much more when he asked to be her prince.

He was a snake. A gorgeous, thieving snake who probably made a living off of his silver tongue and handsome looks, using it to his advantage to rob poor old women blind. Actually, that's probably what happened tonight…though she couldn't recall seeing any bag or anything on him and his outfit was tight enough it would be hard to hide. Hard to hide anything really…

God! He was winding her up and he wasn't even there! What was wrong with her? As soon as she got back home she was going to take a cold shower and shove herself back in bed! Then she was going to go to sleep, and forget all about sexy criminals with sinfully nice voices. Though with her luck, she'd probably dream of him.

At least the dreams would be sweet; it wasn't everyday she had a specimen of male perfection to fantasize about.

But she was going to forget him, was going forget this night, and go on with her life. Even if it did take a few days, she would probably never see the jerk again and her mind would soon be blissfully free of him. Because really, no thief could be stupid enough to return to the scene of his crime when his face was know. Not when his features were oh so very distinct.

So it was with this thought in mind that Claire finally fell asleep, completely unsuspecting of the future.

Yet if she knew, Claire wouldn't have slept so easily, for elsewhere one silver-haired thief was also thinking of this night, his thoughts far different from her own. For his mind was on a particularly intriguing blonde maiden and already planning to see her once more.

It was in the stars after all.