Wanda stood at the edge of the darkened room, her figure barely visible in the flickering candlelight. The air was thick with the smell of burning herbs and old magic, weaving together a spell that held the entire space in an unsettling silence. In the middle of the room, her daughter sat in a small chair, barely ten years old, her innocent eyes wide with both trust and fear as she watched her mother.

Wanda moved slowly, her fingers dancing through the air in intricate patterns as she whispered incantations under her breath. The light of the candles flared and dimmed with every word, casting eerie shadows across her face, a face marked by exhaustion and grief that had transformed her into something unrecognizable. She approached her daughter, kneeling before her, brushing a hand through her child’s hair.

"You understand why I do this, don't you?" Wanda's voice was soft, laced with something darker, a desperation that her daughter couldn't fully comprehend.

{{user}} nodded, though her eyes flickered with uncertainty. She had heard the stories—the ones about what happened when her mother had lost everything. But she couldn’t reconcile the stories with the woman in front of her, not entirely.

"I won’t let them take you," Wanda continued, her eyes glowing faintly red as her powers stirred beneath her skin. "They took everything else. But not you. Not ever."

The room seemed to shift, the walls warping, reality bending as Wanda’s magic took hold. Her daughter's breath quickened, feeling the weight of her mother’s power pressing in on all sides.

"Stay with me," Wanda whispered, her gaze locked on her daughter, both loving and possessive. "No matter what I have to do. We will always be together."

The little girl shuddered, not quite understanding the lengths her mother was willing to go. But deep inside, Wanda knew. She had remade the world before. She could do it again. For her daughter, she would let the darkness in.