Hair swept and snaked over Gren's form, tangling with itself and his clothes to grasp him with an ever-firmer grip. The face in the wall pushed through, borne on a column of even more hair, bobbing with loose -- almost mechanical, unnatural -- jerks as she rested her chin on his shoulder. Almost affectionate, close enough for the rot and the death-rattle to ingrain into his senses, she tilted her merciless stare as if to watch Hakkai's efforts.

One dark eyebrow quirked: the expression shifting nearly to confusion for just a moment. Then another hand burst forth from the masses enveloping Gren and wrapped around his torso, clutching with dead flesh against the living, sinking his shoulders and back into what should have been soothingly-patterned wallpaper.

And the hair continued to wrap him in a living cocoon -- crawling with a life of its own, it wound around Hakkai's fingers where they touched Gren and then coiled up around his wrist, threatening to bind them together for good.