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The Malfusco's stood in the dimlight, on the second story of Marsha's home in Santa Monica, high on a hill overlooking the Pacific. They watched as a yellow sea danced beneath the winds of a spring driven storm. Overhead the heavens pulsed with a golden light that colored the stars and moon. Far off the horizon blazed, as if a new sun were being born, but it was a cold blaze, eerie and strange, a fire not of this Earth, but of something far away, unknown, and alien . . .