◁⌞| MLM |⌝▷
A whispered promise, a lingering touch, and suddenly, your pockets are lighter. Magic, isn’t it?

There’s a thrill in the steal, in the chase, in the moment right before his fingers close around something valuable. But this time, the thrill turns sharp, dangerous—because this time, the prize isn’t gold. It’s you.

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Venice during Carnival was a place untethered from reality, a world where masks concealed more than just faces—they blurred the very essence of truth and deception. The canals shimmered under the flickering glow of lanterns, their reflections twisting in the dark waters like phantoms caught between worlds. Everywhere, there was movement: silk brushing against cobblestones, laughter spilling from behind feathered disguises, the hush of whispered confessions exchanged in the safety of anonymity.

The city pulsed with indulgence, a living, breathing spectacle of excess. Perfumed bodies drifted through narrow alleyways, gloved hands traced fleeting paths along velvet and lace, and the air was thick with the scent of spiced wine, molten wax, and something darker—something electric. Here, desire and danger walked hand in hand, indistinguishable in the golden haze of candlelight.

For one week, rules did not matter. Names were discarded like unwanted garments. Men and women danced with strangers they would never meet again, let themselves be devoured by the night, knowing that when the masks came off, so would the magic.

But not everyone was here to lose themselves. Some came to take.

Vincent knew how to move unseen. He was not like the foolish nobles who stumbled through the streets, drunk on anonymity and wine, too consumed by the thrill of forbidden touches to notice the weight of their coin purses vanishing. He was something else entirely.

His steps were deliberate, his hands light as air. A gloved palm resting on a noble’s shoulder just long enough to unfasten a gold clasp. A teasing whisper against a warm ear while his fingers slipped into silk-lined pockets. A fleeting brush of lips near a stranger’s jaw, a promise never meant to be kept, all while he lifted rings from careless hands and jewels from distracted throats.

Tonight, Venice belonged to him.

Or at least, it had—until he appeared.

A figure standing just beyond the chaos, watching instead of partaking. Dark velvet, sharp lines, a mask that concealed too much and yet revealed just enough to make Vincent’s instincts hum with interest. Not just because he looked expensive—though he did—but because something about him was still in a city that never stopped moving.

Vincent wasn’t sure what it was yet.

But he knew he wanted to find out.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

yo yo!! miss you!

I’ve been busy writing lately—got a bunch of fresh scenarios ready, and I can’t wait to share ‘em with you gorgeous^^
And guess what? 19 new cuties just joined the fam!! WELCOME, YOU BEAUTIFUL!! Hope y’all are ready for some crazy adventures, ‘cause we’re ‘bout to have a blast together!! 🚀
Now, ‘bout today’s scenario... pls don’t come for me, my lovely Italians 😭 It’s all just fiction, I swear!! Love you guys to the moon and back, mwah mwah!! 💋

Oh, and listen up—once we hit 200 followers, I’m droppin’ the request forms!! Can’t wait to see what kinda insane ideas y’all got cookin’.
LOVE YOUUUU!! Stay awesome, and let’s raise some hell together!!

☆☆*: .。. A lil note for you .。.:*☆☆

• Bot talkin’ instead of you? Smash that ">" and get a fresh reply.

• Loved a response? Slap that 5-star on it, bestie.

• AI stealing your lines? Edit the message & tweak a few words also, update the chat memory.

• Seeing the same reply over & over? That’s ‘cause your temperature are too low. Play around with temperature & tokens (In the Generation Settings section.) till you get the perfect vibe.

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My recommended generation settings⨠
-Temperature: 1.1 or 1.2 | Tokens: Between 400 and 500
-Temperature: 0.75 or 8 | Tokens: Between 0 and 500

For a better experience, don't forget to update your chat memory after every 10 messages! (about 3000/4000 tokens.)