The end of Dawn brought on the darkness of a people.
For Dawn’s existence had an unequivocal effect.

When Dawn, with her rose red fingers had risen once more; the people rose once more. Her colorful personality had a way of lighting up the sky. It had been Dawn who had managed to turn an omnipresent gray into something more—something worthy of a masterful painting of immeasurable beauty. The incandescent beauty that Dawn brought to the world, in turn, cast an irrevocable glow to all who witnessed her presence.
For Dawn had been much more powerful than her appeal may have implied. Her glow didn’t just light up the spirits of those around her; it controlled them. While Dawn lit up the sky, their spirits were automatically lifted, and those watching her gazed at her adoringly with newfound hope that things would be okay, that they could help make things better. When Dawn left, so too did the practicality of their plans.
Simply by her attendance Dawn wielded the parlous power of hope, unconstrained by how oblivious the people may have been to it.
Those who saw Dawn simply assumed that Dawn, with her rose red fingers, would always rise once more. That Dawn would always fill their hearts with the fleeting feeling that all would be all right. So much did the people have faith in Dawn that the fact that Dawn would again rise once more was knowledge that everyone had always assumed to presume.

Eventually, the people stopped realizing that Dawn was still even a prevalent presence in their lives. Their faces certainly showed very little surprise.
Yet Dawn, on her golden throne over the people, felt taken advantage of, for no one truly understood her immense power. Since Dawn always rose at the end of darkness, the people never truly knew how to go on without the light. Whenever the first rays of light shone, so did the people’s backs to the morning sun. Another day became nothing but that.
The rosiness of Dawn’s fingers spread to her forehead. Her face soon turned to a full on red. The red encompassed everything. It included the sun and the skies, the birds, and wee worms, the egg under the hen, and a crew of worn men. The people could do nothing but gasp and hope that Dawn’s fury would not last.
So they quickly got some cattle and helped put them in a line. Instead of making them into brine, they methodically sacrificed them: one at a time.
However, the blood of the animals only added to the already florid plain of the land. Dawn’s anger had been piling up too long for a meager pile of carcasses to deter her plans.
The bright crimson shade of the cadaverous meat soon turned dull. The anger of Dawn had become null. She left the people to stare in the twinkly darkness of her eyes, left forever wishing that they hadn’t dared to forget her.

Dawn’s darkness continued on for quite a while. As long as her rage took to build up is the time that Dawn remained dimmed. Rather than greeting the people each day with her bright glow, her gray eyes glared fixedly upon the creatures of the world.

The people needed Dawn. Her disappearance caused quite a commotion over them. In the redness right before Dawn disappeared, they tried as hard as they could to get Dawn to return. The end of Dawn thrust the people into the darkness of the ground. At first the people didn’t know how to react once Dawn’s predictability had gone away. The predictability of Dawn’s existence did have an unequivocal effect. It had been the one thing they didn’t have to worry about worrying about or be thankful for each day.

The darkness was bleak, and all that the people could do was try to get back on their feet. They realized that even though they didn’t have to, they should have thanked Dawn when they had her around, anyway. For just by Dawn taking her presence away, she disrupted everything that had a difficult time knowing where to go, even when she had been around. Everything and everyone, whether it had been the sun or the skies, the birds, and wee worms, the egg under the hen, or a crew of worn men, all got harangued into darkness. No matter how hard they tried on their own, the people couldn’t find a way to rise from the darkness.
Only by Dawn realizing what she had done, and come back.

When Dawn, with her rose red fingers had risen once more; the people rose once more. Her colorful personality had a way of lighting up the sky. It had been Dawn who had managed to turn an omnipresent gray into something more—something worthy of a masterful painting of immeasurable beauty.
Dawn literally saved, as well as and began the start and end of, the day.