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When it showed up, Erling blamed his broken heart. Too much time brooding in the December gloom, he thought. Seeing things. But there was really no mistaking it. In this dark, deserted, Arctic landscape: a shimmering light. Not the ghostly glow of snow under an inky sky, or the silky bloom of an Aurora. This was different. It was luminous, rippling, amorphous – and close. It was below him, in the pond. It was under the ice.


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