As if in response to the struggles of its captive, the hair seemed to multiply, the column of it thickening and more strands extending from the very walls to join in supporting Skulduggery's weight. The hand he grabbed to force away snapped back with the force, hair trailing it in a shape reminiscent of a real human's and dead bones snapping with the ease of rotted joints. It loped drunkenly backward for a moment even as more hair began to smoulder around him, then arced back to latch onto the other side of his face.

Both hands pulled, sharp strong yanks as if something were using him to pull itself free, and in counterbalance the hair rose. Skulduggery rose far above his companion, level with and then higher than the balcony ringing the Sun Room on the second level. With him travelled the endless death-rattle, slithering up the length of the hair until it centred below his body.

Then -- fire from below, Rita's spell striking dead-on and cracking to life as the hair burned. The writhing trunk of hair glimmered with eerie, uneven light as the fire worked its way through hanks of hair, casting the room into unsteady lighting.

However unsteady, it still revealed their surroundings: hair covered every wall, reaching toward Skulduggery and sparking as it caught ablaze. Around their intended exit, bloodied handprints smeared a counterpoint to the door frame, fresh and nearly black in the firelight.

And in every picture frame the silhouette of a woman, hair tangled over her face and obscuring all but one staring, malevolent eye.