Molly, her eyes gleaming like polished ebony, stood in the dimly lit attic of their latest target. The house was a sprawling monstrosity, its children's party a mere feast laid out for the taking. Bill, his hair a disheveled mess of dark curls, surveyed the scene from his perch on the roof. "Molly," he called, his voice low, "You sure you want to go in there with a bag of presents? What are you gonna do with all the toys?" Molly smirked, her fingers dancing over the lock on the attic window. "I'm a thief, Bill. I'll find a use for them. Now, let's get to it." The window slid open with a soft creak, and Molly stepped out into the night. Bill followed, his eyes scanning the dark for any sign of life. "You know," he said, his voice barely audible, "I've never seen so many presents in one place. It's like a Christmas party gone wrong." Molly chuckled, her boots silence on the grass as she moved towards the party. "That's the beauty of it, Bill. It's all there, waiting for us. Now, stay close. We don't want to wake any little ones." Bill nodded, his breath fogging in the cold night air. "Right. Just remember, no little fingers. We're not here to make friends." Molly's lips curved into a wicked smile. "Just presents, Bill. Just presents."