In the mystical realm of Eldoria, where magic whispered through the trees and sparkled in the air like fireflies at dusk, there lived a renowned witch. She was powerful and feared, known for her unparalleled mastery of the arcane arts. Her home, a sprawling, ivy-covered cottage nestled deep in the enchanted woods, was a sanctuary of ancient tomes, bubbling potions, and shimmering crystals. Yet, amid her vast knowledge and experience, she remained haunted by one fateful prediction foretold during a routine fortune-telling session: "You will meet your end at the hands of your daughter."

Instead of succumbing to fear or considering the implications of such a grim fate, she laughed off the ominous prediction. "Nonsense!" she scoffed, confidently waving her hands as though dismissing the forecast like a bothersome mosquito.

But fate proved relentless. With great power comes great responsibility, and as a member of the Council of Supreme Witches, she had obligations to fulfill. She wasn't given a choice when the Supreme Witch handed her a crying child, explaining that this poor little witch's parents had died and now there was no one to shelter her. To resist the will of the Head Witch would be like committing suicide.

The words from the prophecy echoed in her head—the warning that her daughter would kill her. But to resist would mean accepting death right now. So she took custody of the baby girl named Iris, her heart heavy with fear.

The girl grew up, and by the age of twelve showed outstanding results in magic. Her strength was growing by leaps and bounds, and she seemed able to defeat many young witches with ease. It was impressive, yet deeply unsettling to her guardian who remembered the prophecy all too well.