Junpei's rapid retreat was doing something the spirit didn't want: it was dragging both him and Evangeline away, towards an area beyond the spirit's influence. Beyond the realm of her hatred, where there would be no way to satisfy the need to kill, the need to wreak vengeance on the living -- to make them hurt and fear as she had. For that she needed them to be where her blood and her curse had sunk into the very air, and as the boy ran they were leaving it.
No, the spirit did not want that at all -- the hand grasping Junpei's abruptly vanished as if it had never existed, and the hair began to multiply furiously, wrapping in long thick skeins around Evangeline even more rapidly than before.
Until the ice struck. For a moment the strands that were trying to capture Evangeline were frozen, brittle enough to be broken as if it were real hair, and then suddenly, all of it vanished. Just like the hand, as if it had never been there, leaving Evangeline and Junpei free to run. For all of a second: in the next, hair exploded downward from the ceiling, a writhing, sinuous mass dwarfing what had been on Evangeline.
And in the centre of the mass was the head and shoulders of a woman, but a woman long dead, flesh blue-tinted grey and mouth opening to a rotted black interior, eyes rolled back in her head. Certainly dead, but from the masses of hair that built the twisting shape of her body rose hands, reaching out to grasp anything that came into contact with her -- hair, skin, clothes -- as she lunged towards the patients with a speed that was almost graceful.
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No, the spirit did not want that at all -- the hand grasping Junpei's abruptly vanished as if it had never existed, and the hair began to multiply furiously, wrapping in long thick skeins around Evangeline even more rapidly than before.
Until the ice struck. For a moment the strands that were trying to capture Evangeline were frozen, brittle enough to be broken as if it were real hair, and then suddenly, all of it vanished. Just like the hand, as if it had never been there, leaving Evangeline and Junpei free to run. For all of a second: in the next, hair exploded downward from the ceiling, a writhing, sinuous mass dwarfing what had been on Evangeline.
And in the centre of the mass was the head and shoulders of a woman, but a woman long dead, flesh blue-tinted grey and mouth opening to a rotted black interior, eyes rolled back in her head. Certainly dead, but from the masses of hair that built the twisting shape of her body rose hands, reaching out to grasp anything that came into contact with her -- hair, skin, clothes -- as she lunged towards the patients with a speed that was almost graceful.