She’s starting to worry that she wouldn’t recognize home even if she tripped and fell into it. Her memories of where she came from have started to go hazy, like a good dream that feels real until the details suddenly evaporate and never come back.

Still, this school looks right. Back in Demondale, Sunnydale High was razed to the ground by the opening of the Hellmouth. This main building seems intact. Two stories under a red tile roof. Stone pillars framing the front door. Concrete benches and tall shaggy pine trees. The front lawn where she studied with friends. When she had friends.

Even without the staff’s pushing, she feels herself drawn inside.

It must be after school. The hallways are empty. Her footsteps echo on the waxed linoleum as she passes closed lockers. She can’t help but pause in front of locker number 309 and try her combination on the lock. It doesn’t open.

It’s not her world. Just another reflection.

The staff nudges her deeper inside the bowels of the school, past unfamiliar graffiti and classrooms with teacher names she’s never seen before.

The door to the library is closed, but the lights are on, so somebody must be home. Nudging open the door, she slips inside, breathing in the scent of neglected books and the lemon Pledgeiness of the polished wooden railings. For a single moment, she can close her eyes and believe she’s back home, that Giles will turn around, ancient book in hand, and reprimand her for being late to today’s training. And Willow and Xander could rush in, inviting her out to do something decidedly un-slayery. Like going to see the new coolest band at the Bronze. Or sitting on the couch to marathon movies and scarf snacks. And they’ll have the same argument they always have about whether licorice should even count as candy when there’s such candier candy to be had.

Instead, she hears a whoosh of air and opens her eyes to find a giant snake springing at her, baring the teeth of its five identical human heads.

“Buffy Summers,” the snake heads hiss in unison. Each of them has big ears and a ring of hair receding from a bald skull that gleams in the overhead light. “At lasssst.”

The Slayer’s jaw drops. This is what she gets for thinking she was beyond surprises. She’s seen some wack demons in her time—giant bugs and zombies and, once, a possessed desktop computer that only spoke in binary code—but this. . .This is a first.

“Principal Snyder,” she says, taking in the sight. The last time she faced a giant snake demon was in her own reality, when she stopped the Master from opening the Hellmouth and its guardian popped out. That snake had definitely not had the face of the Sunnydale High principal. She tilts her head to examine the creature’s singular body coiled around the octagonal center of the library. Its tail loops over the tables and chairs meant for studying. “You look good as Hellmouth spawn. Scales really work for you much better than a little suit and tie.”