It is the first, the ultimate, rule I must set: One must not sleep in the darkness, for the power of the mind is not stalled by any process; there is little distinction between thoughts and reality, and the darkness is always hungering for form. One must not sleep, for one will dream.
If this warning has so far fallen on deaf ears, I must tell of one of the workers who perished by his own insipid dreams. He had a fantasy, something from a fairytale that had gotten mixed up with his own, juvenile libido. I had hired him because of his great artistic talents; yet, while he worked, his thoughts wandered into the rut it had tread too often.
How sweet the darkness seemed then when it promised to fulfil his impossible desires. The phantoms whispered to him, called him from his bed, and in his sleep, he walked back into the grove alone.
My boy woke and warned me. I formed a party to find him, but we were too late. We trailed him through the grove, but his fantasies had made quick work of him. When we reached him, we found the two daughters of Lilith feasting on his corpse; fully formed, their dark and soulless eyes surveyed us with the cold calm one begins to recognize in monsters.
They were the first. Many, unfortunately, have suffered similar fates, and now my dream has turned into a nightmare.
Tale Told 
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