The window glides soundlessly open,

the darkness within the room merging with the darkness outside. A small piece of the black exterior begins to move quicker than the rest, its motions just visible by contrast. Silently, a light foot is set on the wooden floorboards, weight being eased onto it slowly, so as not to elicit a sound from the aging boards. Carefully, a lithe figure passes through the window, easing a second foot onto the floor, and gradually the darker shadow stands inside the silent room. The softest of breath is the only sound heard, and even that is muffled behind a dark scarf. It is with painfully slow motions that the figure moves, clearly aware of the old floor's penchant for loud sound.
      After some time, the figure stands before a glass-fronted cabinet, and dark-gloved hands search for the knob with which it will open. There is no lock - there have been few robberies in the town's long history, and the residents grow complacent and trusting.
      If he is careful, they may not even report a burglary, only wonder at some point in future where things were misplaced. Of course, he will not remain long in town anyway, as a mere precautionary measure, but he has already stayed longer than initially planned, due to the inability of the citizenry to be roused into worry.
      The cabinet opens, the glass panel catching as it moves a slight reflection from some faint light in the far distance. Straining his eyes, he waits until they have adjusted to the deeper shadow of the cabinet's interior before he reaches a hand inside. As cautiously as can be, he takes care to disturb nothing but the object he is after.
      An old watch, a family heirloom of fifty years, is his aim. Plated gold, the delicate engraving of a compass rose covering its surface is studded with small pearls, with a larger diamond placed in the center. It is not terribly old, and the family is not terribly attached to it, and has no son to pass it down to in future years. As he gently lifts it from the wooden shelf, he can both hear and feel the soft but steady ticking. For a moment, the sound causes his heart to race, reminding him that the longer he remains, the more chance of being seen. But in a few short seconds he has quelled the rising panic, knowing there is no rush, so long as he makes no sound to arouse any suspicions.
      After slipping the watch into a concealed pocket on the inside of his jacket, he moves a nimble hand over a lower shelf, seeking out a small figure of silver. Though not large, the delicate shaping of the swan hints at a greater value than its size would indicate, and the countless tiny colored stones which line its wings have a richness of hue that only true jewels possess. This, he wraps gently in a bit of soft flannel before placing in another, deeper pocket.
      Slowly and silently, he closes the cabinet door, then rises to his feet. The room seems much brighter now, after the darkness inside the cabinet. He resumes his deliberate steps, crossing to the immense wardrobe. Gingerly, he slides open the drawer on the bottom, smiling broadly as it glides smoothly and soundlessly. His planning has again worked greatly in his favor; his thoughtful considerations and attention to the smallest things have grown to perfection over the past few years. During his social call to the household a few days prior, having made the acquaintance of the owner the day earlier at a church gathering, his host had brought him into the room to sit down and have a cup of coffee. Just as they entered, a maid was putting away some fine linens in the drawer, and it had protested loudly to being closed. Reacting instantly, he suggested to the maid that she might try rubbing a candle along the sides of the drawer, as the wax would smooth the surface and cause the drawer to move more easily. Surprised and startled, she had stammered a thank you, and said she would be sure to do just that. Having closed the drawer, she left the room, and his host had chuckled and clapped him on the back.
      "You are a useful fellow! Really, some fine young lady may very well bait a hook for you, as short a stay in the area as you claim to be making. It's not often an available man with such good looks and a knowledge of practical things turns up, and you do seem to have quite a charming manner, just as I had in my day, you know. Why, even yesterday, I caught a few of the girls glancing at you surreptitiously at the social! You'd best watch yourself, Charlie!"
      He had laughed along with the older man, but had been thinking far more of the fine silk he had caught sight of within the drawer than any light-headed society girls.
      Pulling the folded length of silk from the drawer, he neatly replaces the cloth which had lain atop it, knowing it is not likely anyone will look inside for perhaps a week, and likely not find the silk missing for far longer.
      It is care such as this that has enabled him to continue in his business for several years now. He takes only things which will not soon be missed, and has never tried to remove anything of great size or value. There is too much risk, and too few maneuvers available should he be caught - besides, he has no need or desire to do so. A bit of silver here and there, a delicately worked tablecloth, an old heirloom which is only brought out to be shown off every few months at most. Small things of value which are simply taken for granted by those who own them. Always middle or upper-middle class, never quite high-class families. With wealth comes paranoia, he has found, and while he has found it easy to lift a tiny item or two in midst of a party in a mansion, it is in the homes of the rich that the servants search the pockets of jackets checked. And he has no need to take such risks or go to such extremes, as he lives easily enough on his usual purloined goods. What he has taken tonight will more then cover a hotel room in the next town, and what he has taken from other homes in the area will keep his purse quite full enough to purchase sundry accessories for both personal and professional use.
      Having closed the drawer, he pauses and glances around the room. He decides that he has taken enough, and tucks the silk inside his jacket, beneath his arm. Stealing back across the room without a sound, he moves toward the open window, following the sense of cooler air. (The night is without a breeze - this detail, too, was carefully considered, knowing that too chill of an influx of air might be noticed by anyone slumbering in a room nearby with an open door.) It takes him some time to cross the room, small as it is, with such care does he slowly let his weight fall.
      It is not from any sense of malice that he employs himself thus, nor any desperation. It is simply a good living, suiting him perfectly. From the time he was a child, he excelled at both acting and lying - to his mind, there is little difference between the two, and he views himself as more of a roaming actor than a shiftless hoodwinker. What he takes is merely pay for a superb performance, one so flawless that they have no idea there is any fallacy between the person they have met and the person who steals from them late at night. In the first, fresh from school, he had spent some time simply moving from town to town, uncertain of his desired residence. He soon discovered how easily people were willing to believe the words of a stranger. Unquestioningly acceptance of a slight embellishment he had once made when relating his history had emboldened him, and he began trying out entirely imagined backgrounds for himself. And with these as much as the truer details, he was completely believed. Astonished, he took this on as common practice for each new town he visited, enjoying the variety and the challenge.
      As his funds ran low, however, he realized he was in need of income. Though he had been doing small jobs here and there, it was not enough, particularly as his false histories began requiring occasional purchases to support them. Posing as a rambling, indolent son of a very rich man, for instance (one of his favorite parts to play), led to the need to pay admission to exclusive clubs and the consumption of expensive clothing and dinners. He makes it a point to never himself use any of the belongings he steals, however, taking them in mixed assortments and casual quantities to discrete pawn shops. In his travels, he had noticed early on how many needless things people collect and retain, though they hold no meaning to the owner. Even things of particular richness or beauty were often placed on a curio shelf and then forgotten, unless there was company present whom they wished to impress. Small works of art, carefully crafted, were reduced to mere status symbols, collecting only dust and the occasional disinterested glance. Though no artist himself, such neglect saddens him, seeing beauty so unappreciated. So, in a way, he is simply relocating the things to a place where they should be found by those who might appreciate them more, bought by those who desire things of visual appeal yet cannot typically afford them, and so will not use them as a sign of status but enjoy them for what they were meant.
      Ah, but such self-inflating things these sound! He knows these are reasons he has only gradually come to claim, they are only extra benefits. He lives in such a way because it suits him. He is free to do as he wishes, not tied down by relationships or mortgage payments, nor even limited by expectations of social class or personality traits. He is able to be anyone and do anything he sets his mind to. The freedom is exhilarating, and the challenges exciting to his intelligent mind.
      He has reached the window, and begins to ease himself through it, taking much less time than before, not needing to worry about squeaking floors once outside. Slowly he pulls down the window behind him, sensitive to its slightest noises, and gingerly closing it the very last bit.

      A few minutes later, a light-hearted tune floats back to the window - he is whistling casually as he walks up the street, acting for all the world as a man simply out for a late-night stroll. The room itself is silent and perfectly still. It will say nothing of the night's events, and keep to itself its judgment of the venturing young man.