Work Text:
With a strange sort of clarity, Sara looked at Kenneth Irons, visualizing a snake, gliding through the branches of a tree.
Ripe apples gleamed upon the tree, as vibrant a red as the jewel on the Witchblade.
He would trick, lie, and manipulate Eve in any way possible, so he could get the apple of knowledge and eternal life.
Sara was Eve. Irons was the snake, tempting her with the fruit of knowledge.
This snake would do anything to get at the Witchblade, its forbidden fruit he couldn’t sample himself. He needed Eve to taste it for him.
He urged her to do so, offering her knowledge, encouraging her to embrace the Witchblade’s power.
Embracing it felt right, as if Sara Pezzini had been missing a part of herself and she was finally whole.
Much of what Kenneth Irons had said was accurate. Some of his riddles had even been helpful.
She didn’t trust it. She shouldn’t trust it completely. She was sure he was holding a lot back.
She sensed his desire to control and manipulate her. He’d teased her by saying as much in the word games he played.
He might claim language was a labyrinth, but she had a feeling he knew which direction he was slithering.
Knowing, owning, and controlling. These things were part and parcel of Kenneth Irons, yet he was forced to seduce and tempt.
Sara couldn’t be forced. She might be just one cop, but even a man as powerful as Kenneth Irons sensed there were limits to his ability to exert it upon her.
No doubt he felt it was because of the Witchblade. He had to court and woo the power she wielded. He had to court and woo her, because she wielded it.
Being treated with a certain amount of reverence was addicted, even if she could sense the sarcasm lacing the reverence.
She just had to watch out and not get addicted.