Not all prisons have bars
Disclaimer: BtVS is Joss Whedon’s, where as Stargate is MGM’s. This is done for fun, and not profit.
Notes: To those who might be reading Destruction Absolute, I haven’t given up on it. Since my last chapter was added, I’ve gotten pregnant and delivered an extremely premature baby when I was 6 months pregnant. Don’t worry, everything has since turned out fine, and little Ginny (no word of a lie) has just celebrated her 1st birthday. Thought I would celebrate my self by getting back into fanfiction, but since it’s been over a year since I wrote, I wanted something smaller to get my feet wet. Hopefully it’s ok.
Notes #2: This is a response to FaithUnbreakable’s 4-Letter-Drabble-Challenge. My letters were NTPC6
~ BtVS ~ SG1~ BtVS ~ SG1~ BtVS ~ SG1~ BtVS ~ SG1~ BtVS ~ SG1~ BtVS ~ SG1~
Tara didn’t know how she had come to this place. The last thing she remembered she was joking with Willow about finally wearing clothes again; then there was a sharp piercing pain in her chest followed by an all consuming darkness.
Next thing she knows, she’s in a field running from men in strange armor with matching tattoos on their foreheads. They shout at her in a language she can’t understand, realizing that she’s not going to comply with them they open fire.
She put out her hands to create a barrier, but it only works for a fleeting second before she struck. Once more she feels a sharp pain, and is consumed by darkness.
Tara again, woke up in a place she didn’t know. This time, she’s strapped to a gold alter and women with the same tattoo on their forehead paint henna on her body. She can’t be sure, but she has a feeling that it’s part of a ritual. Tara understands the need for rituals, their importance. These woman were painting with such precision, Tara could tell that this was very important to them.
She tried to talk to them, but the woman ignored her. They continued with their work, until a man walked into the room, dressed in what Tara thought looked like priest robes, and barked at them in the same language as before. They leave their supplies and swiftly leave the room.
The man looked over her body, assessing her. There was a time she would have cowered and tried to make her self as unnoticeable as possible. That was before, before she met her Willow. So she swallowed the fear, looked the man in the eye and raised her eye brow as if questioning him.
He laughed, and babbled in the unknown language. What ever he was saying, he definitely sounded pleased. Then he said a word that sounded vaguely familiar. Nirrti. It was a name, she was certain of that, but she couldn’t place where she had heard it before.
Her musings were cut short, because the man snapped his fingers and called out of the room.
Another man came into the room caring what Tara recognized as a Canopic jar. The priest gave a sadistic looking smile as he reached into the jar and pulled out a writhing demonic looking serpent.
“Nirrti.” He said with reverence, as he forced Tara’s head to the side, exposing the back of her neck.
Again she feels a sharp pain, but this time she’s not plunged into darkness.
“My Queen.” The priest says in the same language, but this time Tara understands. There’s the same reverence in his voice. He removes the binding and though she can feel her body sit up, it is not her moving it, she’s no longer in control.
Suddenly her mind is opened up to that of the creature which has taken control. The destruction and hate in its soul. The thirst for vengeance against a foe called SG-1 . The horrors and atrocities it’s committed, and will continue to commit.
Seconds later Tara realizes that once more her mind has become a prison, but this time Willow isn’t here to save her.
Then a horrifying thought crosses her mind, if she knows what’s in Nirrti’s mind, does Nirrti know what’s in hers?
All too soon she has an answer as one of the discarded brushes floats up to eye level, before it is released and crashes to the floor.
As Nirrti laughs, Tara hopes that the strangely named SG-1 can free her by killing this evil Queen.