"Then you're a ghola. When I arrived at this place, Ghanima Atreides had been dead for thirty five hundred years and I am your distant descendant." Sheeana scoffs. It must be...Did Scytale...That disgusting little man.

"Why does the sisterhood keep trying to persuade me to bed gholas..." She says, almost too quiet to hear. Honestly, wtf is up with that, Bene Gesserits?