A thief

Once upon a time there was a thief. He was an artist. The art of stealing. All the kingdom's, all the kings, and all the vaults he stole from. So much so that people started using him to test their vulnerabilities. They would let it known that their vault was the best. The thief knew but for lack of a challenge he kept on. With every passing day he was better. But alas!
The locksmiths had none to offer. Our incorrigible thief then proclaimed to the world, a challenge, to prove a locksmith worthy of honor.
Many came. All left with but their dignity. The thief grew restless. One fine night came a letter. He opened it up and his eyes lit up. In there lay the work of a life. The magnum opus of thiefdom.
The night after our thief went and returned with a piece of the puzzle. Night after night he went. Every night he brought a part. He then realized the puzzle, part by part. His heart grew heavy. He realized that he loved the puzzle. Piece by piece he fell. With every passing day, the more he stole, the more he loved. A day came when he had all. He slept in peace, but all the kingdom was distraught. Children were scared. Elders grew mad. And then there was chaos.
The thief realized that the life of the world lay in his pockets. A thief never gives back. The day was heavy. The artist weary but resolute. And then he knew what he had to do.
He toiled. Every night he returned. Every night a piece restored. Every night he would sigh, but for the children he went back. Every night he put a small piece back. Along with it, a piece of him went. His heart would be wrenched and still he kept going. Finally on a night he was alone again. He looked up and there among the stars was his love. Time stopped.
For himself till this day he steals the moon for his heart. And then gives the moon back to them that love her.
The thief knows not and cared not. He never asked the moon. Never did he ask, what it feels to her to be stolen. To be in pieces and whole again. In his heart he knows not all. But for a life he will steal, for else he remains not a thief. But the bards ask. They see not him. They ask of the moon. Where she leaves her pieces and who gathers them back. The moon always smiles. For she tells not all.