“The first wind of winter blew from the north, and it had ice and rime on its breath. It was dirty and sharp and it cut like a razor, and if it touched you, you could wash and wash until your skin was tattered and bloodied, but you'd never be clean again. It scattered them in the night, the quiet ones with death in their eyes. But they left more tentatively than they had come, as if they had seen something unholy inside themselves; something they would never be able to forget. And they left, slowly, one by one, with reluctance, leaving the safety of the light for the chill certainties of the darkness. It seemed like the night sucked them up, took them into its dark heart. It seemed like the darkness swallowed them... Perhaps it did.” DarknessProseGaimanThe SandmanThe Doll House Book:The Sandman #14: Collectors Source: The Sandman #14: Collectors