If one were to look behind them at midnight on All Hallows Eve, they would see a phantom. A ghostly, transparent creature in a ancient dress, mouth open in a silent scream, frightening maybe, but not deadly. Not yet.

But when they turned their back, the phantom would inch closer, levitated heels making no noise as she draws nearer and nearer, screaming lips closing into a vicious grin—but she doesn’t strike, not yet. She waits. Her ebony dress is as deep as an abyss, flowing around her in gentle shapes that offset her demeanor like fire and ice. Her startling white eyes are fixed glaringly on her prey. There’s a hunger in them, a hunger deeper than a mortal soul, a void that cannot be closed. She’d eat her fill and still be empty.

She’s scary. Jaw-breakingly terrifying, looming up taller than her prey. It’s like she’s poised to suck a soul, her iron claws inches from your neck, her iron teeth bared back into fangs.

But it’s not until her prey turns that she pounces—and slurps. She savors the screams and the moans, the glassy eyes and the stiff poses. She relishes the fear and the pain and the sorrow. For she is a creature of the dark, the midnight phantom of All Hallows Eve.

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I tried my best about the scary part, hopefully it's creepy enough (:

Lounging in a chilly corner of a forgotten avenue near a decrepit crossroads which splits at one end to a haunted town that is part of a larger and sadder empire on the banks of a stormy sea is a person with a smirk on their face.

This person is tall and their face is shadowed by the magnificent ebony top hat with a large brim and a hideous chartreuse ribbon tied proudly around it in a bow. The hat covers most of the scruffy black hair that sticks out in shaggy waves from under it. They’re wearing a pristine black suit, yet their socks are mismatched—one puce, the other bright orange—and their bow tie is a sharp bubblegum pink covered in rubber ducks. Even the rubber duck tie is odd by rubber duck tie standards, the ducks being an obnoxious colored-in-sharpie red that clashes with the pink tie.

Fierce black eyes stare out from under the hat—or rather, try to, as the hat is slipping down over them—that are both slightly mad and rather alluring, telling unfocused promises of fantasy. Pitch black wings rocket up from neat slits in the back of the suit, covered in sleek crow-like feathers that gleam gently in the dark. Their hands are long and clever, a thief’s hands, and they shimmer with gathering shadowy power that seems both corporeal and magical.

Slowly, moving with infinite grace yet seeming to be over-caffeinated, they take out a watch. Only it isn’t a watch—unless turnips on the ends of golden pocket watch chains are called “watches” in this odd parallel universe. They stare contemplatively at it, and it seems to make perfect sense to them. They wait as the turnip ticks the time.

As the turnip starts to softly bong the hour, they spread their beautiful wings and take off towards the moon.

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This one's wierd... and long... I got distracted by the oddest things...

Also I've been meaning to ask you, but does your name hail from the Grishaverse?

Hex????

The griffin is coiled around the tree, sighing smoke from her nostrils. Her speckled copper-bronze feathers gleam slightly in the brisk night breeze, and stars glitter above her.

She’s fierce, powerful. Her wings are large and spread magnificently. They seem big enough to envelop the universe in a warm embrace. Her powerful hind legs are curled up, her nearly flawless golden pelt is sleek and beautiful. Her whipping tail speaks murder to the flies that try to land on her coat. Her slim hawk head is tall and lifted proudly to stare out miles into the gloomy forest around her. She sees through the shadows, assesses each threat calmly and with infinite precision, alertly gazing into all angles. Her beak is scuffed and scratched and scarred, yet gleams in the same brilliance as her coat. Her eyes are a piercing blue and startling, intelligent and kind, slightly sorrowful. Her front talons resting protectively in front of her, ready to attack.

An ebony crown encircles her head-feathers, gleaming with a large ruby in the front. It shimmers with the light of a thousand stars, like big as a blood moon in a midnight sky.

It takes only one glance to tell she’s queen.

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Sorry about that being so late! Also you're apparently a hawk-griffin because I was struggling with inspiration. 

O.M.G. Love it!!!!!

I would like one please, if you are still doing them, Hex!  I have enjoyed reading the ones you did for others.  I'm Peregrine (after the falcon), she/her/hers.

The wind races past in soft eddies, curling up and around in invisible currents, consuming everything. Faster and faster, it spins in ever increasing circles, gathering debris into a cyclone. It envelops the world, finally dissipating to loop around the girl hovering in the center of the storm.

She’s strong and beautiful and proud. Her brown eyes are as deep and shining as molten amber, fierce and kind. Her shimmering brown-gold hair is plaited down her back, whipping back and forth in the wind like a snake prepared to strike. She has two wings—falcon’s wings, soft brown feathers speckled with white like pinpricks of light shining through the feathery fabric. They extend up over her head, like a haven of protection, flapping slightly such that she’s hovering nearly motionless in the air. Motionless—except for the wind. Her amber cloak ripples silently while her black pants and stormy gray shirt are by contrast still.

She’s tall and powerful, and at just a glance the wind shifts, starting anew. It loops around and above the mountaintops, mixing the snow into intricate ripples.

The girl lets out a fierce yell, a promise of wildness. Then she launches herself forward, one with the wind. Her powerful falcon wings cut the air like knives as she hurls on, looping and curving with the gusting currents. Summersaulting, flipping, hovering—blurring. She darts upward, snow touching the tips of her hair and cloak, yet never her face—she’s too fast as she flies on the edges of reality. 

Frozen in time yet deadly fast, she flies upwards into the clouds that turn to stars, into the blue that’s becoming black. She fades, both slowly and quickly at once, as she’s lost in a storm of power and magic and freedom.