Scarlett enchanted

The forest was alive with whispers—branches creaking, leaves shivering under a blood-red moon—as Scarlet Witch faced the cloaked figure before her. His eyes burned with malice, and behind him stood a towering wizard with a skeleton mask, its empty sockets flickering like dying stars. She had come to stop him from awakening whatever dark power pulsed beneath the forest floor, her hands glowing crimson as chaos magic coiled and cracked through the night air. “You play with forces you can’t control,” she warned, her voice low and steady, though her heart pounded with the rhythm of the earth itself. The wizard only smiled, lifting a gnarled staff carved with runes that shimmered sickly gold. A word of power—ancient, sweet, and poisonous—left his lips, and before she could counter it, the spell wrapped around her like smoke.