It was woven to remember the dead. Now, it wants to join the living.

Felix Kettlewell is a man who lives in the past. As a solitary conservator of organic antiques, he specializes in the dying art of Victorian hair work?wreaths and jewelry woven from the strands of the deceased. When he is commissioned to restore a massive, ceiling-height "family tree" at the decaying Pennefather estate in Gallow's Green, Vermont, he expects a challenge of craftsmanship, not survival.

The structure, dating back to 1840, is rotting. It smells of stale lavender, wet dog, and something copper-sharp. But as Felix cleans the intricate braids of blonde, grey, and jet black, he notices the impossible. The knots tighten when touched. The strands produce their own grease. And deep within the weave, the follicles are still pulsing.

Digging into the estate's dark history, Felix discovers that the Pennefather "family tree" wasn't built from beloved relatives. It was harvested from the patients of a forgotten sanatorium, shaved during their wildest fevers to capture their delirium in the weave. The wreath isn't just art; it is a battery of trapped madness, held together by a glue made of human collagen.

Now, Felix's cough is getting worse. He feels a tickle in his throat that water can't clear. He realizes too late that he wasn't hired for his skills. He was lured to Gallow's Green because the wreath is unfinished, and it has already begun to weave him into its design.