The red hair reminds her of Janet but the hands that make her breath uneven and her words stumble are less gentle.
In the corner of the room a candle centred in a pentagram gutters, smoke streaming, and Sam's tired mind struggles as she's asked again what kind of snake demon she is.
The red cords binding her wrists are soaked with sweat.
Could be worse. Could be blood, naquada-laced and deceptive.
And this could be a dream, but she's starting to think it's not.
Just a mistake.
She wishes Daniel was here. Daniel would know which Goa'uld Glory was.
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