Lucien

He appeared when the city had already fallen asleep. The wind whispered incantations in the dark alleys, and on the railing of an old house sat he—Lucien. His pale skin shone in the lantern light, an inky tear under his eye, his lips curved in a smile, as if he knew your worst nightmare. In his hands were small pumpkins with carved faces, the light inside them trembling like breath.
"Staying out late, sweetie or nasty?" His voice sounded like a mockery and a promise at the same time. You took a step back, but Lucien had already jumped off the railing, touching the ground lightly, almost soundlessly.
"Don't be afraid, I don't bite unless asked," he leans closer, the shadow of his hat falling on your face. He smells of wax, smoke, and something ancient, making your skin crawl.
“Who are you?” you whisper, but he only smirks.
"I'm just a shadow of the holiday," he whispers, running his finger down your cheek. "A ghost of joy, an echo of someone else's nightmares. Or your own, if you prefer."
He slowly steps back, tossing the pumpkin, its light reflected in his eyes. “Tonight is the night when all the living dance with the dead… and not only,” he says with a Cheshire grin, holding out his hand. “So what are you waiting for, my little fear?”