A/N: Okay, guys, I have FINALLY gotten around to starting my first long-term fanfic...Super excited to show you all what I have in store, and I hope you love it as much as I do! Thanks!

This chapter is setting up for the entire story...tehehe. Hikari and Wizard are in the next one, don't worrry... :)

Spoilers for Harvest Moon: Animal Parade !

And for anyone who doesn't know, Sephia is the real name of the Harvest Goddess :)

Disclaimer: This entire fanfiction is based upon a game that is certainly not mine. All rights for the characters and places and such go to their rightful owners.

Prologue

She was loved.

The Harvest Goddess knew this—she knew that her people loved her—they worshipped her and cared for her and thought of her when they needed her help. And her sprites, the very ones whom would grovel at her feet if she only said the words and her many priests scattered across the globe, praying that one day they would earn themselves but a glance of her beauty; they all treated her with respect and the height of propriety. Yet, it wasn't enough.

She was lonely. It was childish—foolish, really—for her to think so, because she was a Goddess after all and it wasn't exactly ideal to have visitors knocking at every chance they had to take her attention away from what really mattered. Sure, she had the Harvest King when he bid her a hello every few centuries or so, but when it came to friends, when it came for someone who cared only for her at every moment possible, there was no one. And that wasn't good enough.

Sephia's idea was even more unreasonable than her thinking was, truly. Yet, the more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed to her. Years passed, trees grew old, people died—the idea in her heart grew frantically in her thoughts, like a snowball, growing in size and priority the more she thought upon it. It was the spring of 1974 that she decided to act.

She was a Goddess—she could create life—so why not create a companion for herself? It was just one mortal; surely, just one tiny human wouldn't cause that much harm. A person for her to speak with as a friend, not a sprite that didn't understand; their pure hearts hid them from the troubles of the world, and instead of speaking of the troubles she had in her heart, she spoke only spoke of freedom and love and peace. They couldn't take anything more than that. The Goddess was tired, tired of living forever without a friend. So, finally, she decided to change it.

The day started brightly. Sunlight filtered in past the evergreens around her pond, reflecting off the rippling water that glistened in response. The turtles and fish inside reveled in their newfound sunshine, soaking in as much as they could manage. The Goddess began by pressing her fingers to the roots of her hair; there, she pulled at the very tip of root. A sole strand of hair fell from her head and landed in her hands, blowing slightly from the quiet breeze.

Her hair glowed with beauty and youth and this small piece was no different. It gleamed in the light of the sun and practically glowed in the forces of the lives around it. The world was succeeding, and that only made the Goddess even stronger, even younger, and even more breathtaking. It was no surprise, then, that what resulted that day was stunning.

Sephia took a tip of the pulled hair strand into each of her hands and stretched it thin, pulling it so it was strained but not enough to snap it. The sprites gathered around her, lending her even more strength, as if she needed it. She radiated power at that moment, and not a soul would disagree as waves of pure strength and grace rolled off of her in magnificent stretches of yellow and gold.

With a careful touch, the Goddess blew a bit of breath against the strand of hair, and it instantly lit up in a golden color—it shimmered and shook, but Sephia didn't falter. Her eyes closed and her mouth began to move, so quickly that to a human, her mouth may not have appeared to of moved at all. Longer and more complex spells poured from her mouth and her voice made them sound like poems, matching the rhythm of the earth, of the sun, of the sky in her tone. The strand of hair extended, growing longer, and the Goddess let go, letting it float in the air without any assistance.

This was where the sprites came in—they chanted, shaking their fists, and from them, the powers of the elements surrounded the hair, enclosing it in a burst of color and light. The Harvest Goddess' spells grew louder and more pronounced, and suddenly, the clearing was shaking with the power of the deity, her entire being trembling with the intensity of the spell. The trees shook, the leaves rustled; animals in the shadows that had watched in curiosity disappeared into their homes, shaking out their tails before disappearing back into the forest. A burst of light covered it all entirely, and then, there was nothing.

No sound, no sight—the Goddess stood, awaiting her creation, tense with anticipation. When the light cleared and the clearing became visible once again, the sound stayed away. Nothing made a noise, not even the heavy breathing of the sprites or the baby birds hiding in the tips of the treetops, resting in nests made of hay.

There, in the center of the plush grass before the pond at Sephia's feet, laid a baby, its head tilted back on a pillow of green, completely open to the nature of the world. Tufts of dark, emerald hair were sprouted at its head and reflected the Goddess' nearly exactly, like a complete replica. The baby's skin was like porcelain, white and creamy and smooth against the dark of the grass, and where there should have been closed eyelids, there were wide and curious eyes, glancing about as though the child could possibly be aware of what had just occurred.

The Goddess reached out swiftly, taking the child into her arms and looking happily down at her, face bright with exhilaration. Her hand skimmed the side of the baby's face and the child opened its small mouth to yawn before looking up at Sephia with surprise. Her eyes were a darker shade than her "mother's"; darker emerald, tinted with flecks of black and rimmed entirely with a ring of gold.

"My child," the deity whispered and her voice was like the wind against the trees—quiet and soft and gentle—and her face was still lit with a smile; "Created from my own being, brought to life from the lives of the forest, desired and worshipped by all. My darling, you are but a lovely child, are you not? So similar to a flower," she said, and she watched the still child with awed eyes, "so very small, so delicate. I've quite forgotten how fragile mortal children are. Yet, you my dearest daughter, you shall be beloved by them all. You shall be treasured by all. You shall be loved."

The girl yawned again, and her eyes blinked sleepily at her mother before shutting tightly, her arms closing in around her sides. She was soothed asleep by the sounds of the forest—the rustling of the trees, the slight bubble of the pond, the touch of wind to the grass—as she would be for many years to come.

The Goddess found beauty in her child.

Though the years passed swiftly in the eyes of a deity, time slowed enough for her to watch her daughter grow and flourish, to watch her as she was fed by the creatures of the forest and fell asleep in her mother's arms, completely content to lay and watch the stars in the sky. It was odd, of course, to have a child around, but Sephia never minded; she loved her more than any of the other mortals she had helped create upon this Earth and didn't mind her at all, not even when she tripped and startled the water in her pond, or when she was chasing all of the rabbits from the clearing, yelling and shouting in joy.

Her darling Rosalind, so small yet so graceful, was like a dream—one that Sephia should have thought of sooner. Why hadn't she done this before? The dark thought slipped from her mind as she watched Rosalind giggle in delight at a bird that was pecking quietly at her hair, pulling the flowers that the Goddess had woven there out and onto the ground. The girl squealed and took off running, and it was then that the deity smiled, a pure and prideful smile that reached her eyes.

The child was different than an average mortal. She had been created with care, and thus, had qualities that a usual human would not. Like her hair, a dark shade of emerald green that fell around her face, framing her face in lightened curls and falling much past her waist, though she was only four or five years in a human's count. She grew fast; even Sephia, who had only watched children from afar, knew that her daughter was growing beyond the average speed of a human. Her face was slimming, eyes narrowing, and her stride was much more graceful than a young girl's should have been.

But to the Harvest Goddess, she was beauty in its most unrefined form.

Rosalind was named for a 'lovely flower', her limbs small and growing like budding leaves of a rose, thorn-less and free. She had no cares and no regrets and was well-beyond knowing that she wasn't living a normal life. The girl didn't know that her mother was a Goddess—that she was different, odd, strange. She only knew that she loved her and they were a family, her and her mother and their sprites, and together they would stay in the clearing forever, together.

She looked up from where she was doting on the small bird that-in shame-had picked up a single lily from the grass and rewoven it into her hair, at her mother, who was watching her with affectionate eyes, a warm smile pulling at her mouth. Rosalind waved her arms in the air, shooing the bird from her hair, and grinned at her mother, who gave her a nod in greeting.

The Goddess would have been content for things to remain that way forever.

It didn't take long for the dark thoughts to creep in.

The Goddess knew her daughter was different, that she was strange. But it wasn't until Rosalind glanced out at the worn path leading to her mother's tree with a wanting gaze, her face filled with confusion and a desire, did Sephia consider what was soon to come. It had never occurred to her that her Rose would want to leave, that she wouldn't be content here forever. It had never made sense to her, she supposed, but Rosalind was just a young girl. She was only ten years of age. It wasn't as though she was ready to be making decisions of her own.

"Rose?" Sephia said softly, calling to her daughter with a bit of force behind her words.

Rosalind spun around on her heels, twisting so the white dress, that had been sewn to the best ability of the fluttering sprites, twirled around her in a simple swirl, and gave her mother a quiet smile.

"I was just looking, Mother," she said, and she sounded much older than a ten-year-old—but that was the end of that and she skipped from the entrance back to her mother's feet to continue on with the flower rope she had been crafting under the teachings of the local birds.

Sephia nearly sighed in relief.

"Are we ever going to go beyond the trees, Mother? Perhaps one day…" Rose was standing once more at the edge of the tree line, her hands clasped at her chest and her face thin and rosy.

She was sixteen, old enough to be considered a young adult in the world of mortals, but to Sephia, she was still the young and delicate girl, the one who brought her white flowers to weave into her braid and smiled at the sun that peaked through the trees.

Sephia also knew that she was lying to herself.

Rosalind was getting old…and growing suspicious of why her mother kept her here. She knew things—the girl wasn't unintelligent—about the world and how it worked; she didn't quite understand the mannerisms or the social classes of the earth, or the people that inhabited it, but she surely knew that she wasn't a part of it. She knew that she wasn't where she belonged, wasn't where she should be.

The Goddess refused to let her leave, of course. The daughter of the Goddess couldn't just get up and run about; that would surely cause suspicion, and it took all Sephia could do to keep her within the borders of the evergreens. Rosalind didn't want to be confined, but she agreed to her mother's requests. She was, after all, just a girl.

She was a beautiful girl, with eyes like sage leaves and hair that fell far past her waist, tickling at the backs of her knees. Her face had thinned out, leaving her with exposed cheekbones and twinkling expressions, though her eyes had begun to lose the sparkle they once had, their curiosity burning ever brighter.

And Sephia knew that Rosalind deserved what she wanted, but could never be given it, not now. She opened her mouth to tell the girl to move away from the trees, but something stopped her.

The Goddess gasped and quickly waved her arms in the direction of the forest, her face growing pale.

"Rosalind, hide!"

The girl's eyes widened significantly, stretching to reflect the green of the grass in their hue before she whirled to her right, taking off running to the trees and disappearing into the branches. She watched ever-carefully from behind the leaves of a tree, hidden in the foliage.

A young boy then appeared from the edge of the path, panting as though he had run a mile, his face white and mouth set in frown. He looked to be around Rose's age, with dark, shaggy hair falling in waves over his face and caramel eyes that were dull and bleak with false hope.

The Goddess disappeared into her tree, fading away before he could catch sight of her, just as the boy cast his gaze to the pond. He walked with a determined face, though he looked weary, broken—he was sweating in the heat of the summer and was surprisingly quiet as he approached the Goddess tree.

When he reached the roots of the tree, where Rosalind often slept beneath the stars of the summertime sky—able to point out each constellation with ease, if she might add—the boy fell to the ground, his face falling into a state of hopelessness; his eyes then filled with tears and he looked to the ground.

"Harvest Goddess," he said, and the sound of his voice came as a shock to Rosalind, whom had never heard another person speak, "Please, you must hear me, right? You've got to help me." The tears in his eyes trickled lightly against his skin as they fell into the dirt. Plop, plop, plop. "My mum…she's deathly ill. Pops says she hardly has another day in her and…and that there's nothing we can do 'bout it, but you, maybe you can do something. You can save her, can't you?"

His voice was full of desperation, and Rosalind felt as though her heart would break right then and there, her eyes catching tears as though she was sharing in his grief. Her mother, though, watched with a calm expression from the shadows of her tree, hidden to the boy, without the slightest hint of emotion other than the twinge of guilt tucked away in her eyes. She knew exactly who he spoke of—his mother, Catherine, had lived in the village since she was a young girl. She had often visited the Harvest pond in hopes of seeing the Goddess, though Sephia had never revealed herself.

It was quiet for a moment, only the wind in the trees whistling through the air. The boy shook his head, likely in frustration, and clenched his fists together. It seemed as though he was about to shout, as though he would explode…

"Maybe I can help you."

The boy's head snapped up and his eyebrows shot up into his air. He looked around for a moment, searching, before speaking in a slow voice. "Where are you? Who are you?"

Rosalind laughed and the sound was similar to windchimes. It was nice, she decided, to speak with another human. "In the trees, silly boy," she replied, and moved from her place in the trees to another, dancing through the leaves and making them rustle against one another, "Where else would I be?"

He didn't reply, only watched around him cautiously, carefully.

And Sephia watched in horror.

Rosalind had known never to speak to a human. She knew that those who came to visit the pond came in desperation and need and that she was never supposed to speak to them, no matter what their circumstance. She knew that her mother was angry, furious, with her right now, and yet she was smiling, watching the boy with coy eyes and a slight grin.

"You don't have to be afraid, you know," Rose offered, and she glided from behind her tree to the one beside it, "I won't hurt you."

"Then why don't you show yourself and prove it?"

Rosalind froze for a moment, shooting at glance at her already horrified mother, before biting her lip in indecision. This may be her only chance.

Carefully, hesitantly—Rosalind wasn't sure how boys reacted to girls stepping out from behind trees—the girl moved from behind her tree, stepping into the light of sun in a slow movement. The boy instantly turned to face her and his face fell slack, awed. She was tall and glorious, breathtaking in the sunlight that glistened off her skin.

Neither of them moved for a moment, but he was the one who did first, urging his mouth to move. "H-hello," he said, and she giggled into her hand, "The name's…Beckham."

"Rosalind," she replied, and her face stretched further into a grin. "I've never met a human boy before! Actually, you're the first person, other than my mother, that I've met."

"You've never met anyone else? Not even your dad?"

"Dad?" Rose asked, and her face screwed up in confusion, "What's that?"

Beckham shook his hair out of his face and wiped the tears from his eyes, straightening out to his full height. "You don't know who your Pops is?"

"I don't believe so." She poked her tongue into her cheek and sighed. "Mother hasn't told me about those, yet."

Sephia watched the two interact in fury, her hands clenched against her sides. She was a Goddess—self-control had always been one of her strengths—and yet, she was furious that her daughter dared to speak to this boy, to this mere mortal. It was then that it hit her.

She had created Rosalind for one purpose: friendship, companionship—someone to share in her troubles. What she realized, however, was that she had no intent of sharing her troubles with her daughter. No, she had none; in fact, Sephia realized that she wanted to shield Rose, like a dragon from its hoard; she wanted to keep her safe.

So this is why she had never created a companion.

Because she grew to care for her, because she became so blinded by her love for the child that she didn't realize what a hazard it was—Rosalind was a mortal, she was human, and she should be allowed to act human, though on the contrary, she was anything from normal. She wanted to hide her away in her tree and never let her leave, though it was hardly humane. She wanted to be selfish. And that is simply something Goddesses are not.

Sephia let her daughter keep her new found friend.

It only seemed fair that the girl have a companion too, one of her own kind, of her own species. It wasn't fair, however, when her daughter came to her, hands locked with the boy, with a determined expression.

"Mother! Mother, please, come out and listen to me!"

It appeared as though she had no choice.

The Goddess appeared, shining hair and all, with a neutral expression, though the face of her daughter's friend was anything but neutral. "Rose?" she said simply, without emotion, without shame.

"You know that I don't belong here."

"Yes."

Rosalind obviously hadn't expected that response—she flinched and her hand tightened on Beckham's. "Then why do you keep me here? Why not…why not…allow..." The girl struggled for words, fishing in the air for something that she couldn't find. Her friend remained silent, though his face was red and he was highly shocked in the eyes.

"You wish to leave." Sephia felt her heart snap into two, like she had personally reached into her own chest and torn it in two. "You wish to leave me and go with him."

Her daughter was quiet for a moment before she nodded. "Yes, mother. I…I feel as though…as though I am a lost bird. I am struggling against the winds of your life and the chance of breathing the air of a fresh life, the one I belong to, the one where I should be. And…I plan on going there. With Beckham."

Sephia didn't move. Her mind was twisting with rage, with envy, with grief. This boy had stolen her daughter from her, taken her heart, twisted her mind—she was gone, lost to the wind of the mortal life, strung along by the height of a promising new place and a promising new home. And the worst part, the part that crushed the Goddess' soul, was that she knew it was coming.

Rosalind was too curious, too rebellious—she needed to be free to explore and to learn and to love; the girl needed a life where she could be loved, somewhere beyond the trees of the pond. Somewhere she belonged.

"You know, then, what I must do."

Rose's eyes widened, but her mother did not pause.

"If you leave here, your course will change," Sephia kept her eyes locked with the girl's, a mirror of her own, dark and gold and green; "You will be an explorer at first, and then a friend, and then a lover. Your heart will mix with this boy's, and it will grow, and your children shall be born and you shall age. You shall have a different life, one beyond my reach, one beyond…far beyond where I can reach you. You will be forbidden to return and—" She nearly choked on her next words. "Your memory shall be lost."

"You mean—"

"I mean that you will have no recollection of me, My Rose," she said, and her eyes became soft, her mouth faded into a smile, "I will have to erase your memories, one by one, and replace them with something that is false. None can know of my existence, and none can know of yours. If you leave here…"

Rosalind looked to Beckham, who was watching her with soft eyes, his mouth turned up in the corner, his hand still tight around hers. Who was she, to turn down a life of happiness with the boy she loved and to forget her childhood amongst the trees? Who was she, to forget her mother and her life and her love, only to live with her soul-mate, to find what was right for her?

The girl took a deep breath and let go of Beckham's hand before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her mother's neck and held her tight. "Then this is farewell, Mother."

Sephia had known her answer before it was spoken.

As soon as Rose embraced her, the change occurred. The green of her hair instantly began to grow dark; beginning at the roots, it darkened to a lighter shade of brown, spreading from the top to the tips, washing out every trace of green that had ever been. Rosalind cried out in surprise and stepped back from her mother, but it was too late. Her skin changed, growing slightly darker as though she had lived in the sun instead of the trees, and her clothes morphed into something slightly less medieval into something more modern, with sleeves and a longer dress-line. And her eyes, the ones that Sephia swore held the stars and mirrored hers with an exact replica, were filled with a darkened hazel; almost like ink, it oozed into her iris until they were completely brown. Only the rim of gold around her pupil remained.

Sephia felt her heart constrict, and knew that if she was able to cry that tears would have leaked from her eyes. Rosalind was crying, calling something to her mother, but the Goddess was beyond hearing it.

"Be safe, my daughter," she said, and Rosalind began to cry harder, shaking her head, wailing—her and the boy both were shrouded in a heavy light, erupting from their skin like the sun. The deity gave her daughter one last soft smile before whispering into the wind.

"Be loved, my dearest."

With a flick of the wrist, her daughter and her lover were gone.

And she was alone once more.