The Worst Witch ☽ Daughter of the Night ⚝ Story of Nyx Moon Hardbroom

III. ⛧ Was A Fearful Page In The Record My Existence...🌒🥀

Written All Over With Dim, And Hideous, And Unintelligible Recollections

 — EDGAR ALLAN POE (Berenice)

Dear readers, I would like to make it clear that this fanfic is originally written in Spanish, and therefore the progress of is mostly developed in that language. I'm glad to know that many English speakers have been adding this fanfic to their reading lists, so I've been feeling committed to continue with the translation. Thank you for your patience and I hope to keep posting more chapters even though The Worst Witch series has finally concluded. Regards from the writer.

NOVEMBER: Sir Walter Wet Week

Thunder echoes the old castle walls. At times like this, during Sir Walter's week, the leaks pretend to be the constellations of the moldy roof. A gust of wind opens the window. Small drops and brushwood residue are lodged in the room.

—Dammed...! Excuse me. — Without dilating, Oona rushes to close it, hastening the latch to join wide. Her fingerprints smudge those parts of the glass, clouded by the heat inside . With effort, she dislodges the intruding breeze that perpetuated a somber disaster among her belongings—. I didn't catch well... having my head stuck in other places; my mother would say: «swallowing flies while I sunbathe»

—It could happens —says Flora, understanding.

Oona meditates for a moment and checks in her drawer. He pulls out what appears to be a kind of leather-covered notebook —This belonged to Nyx, it was her grimoire, she... gave it to me before she escaped; I wonder, where she is right now, —and tightens the binding—, I just hope... I hope she's okay.

—Really, we're so sorry —Saoirse holding Oona's hand—, Hardbroom must be very worried.

—My mother went to help with the search. It's been hours. Even if Miss Cackle had wanted to support, she was called by an emergency magic council... you know? I was asked not to say anything, and here I am, so much fuss with the committee girls for to not tell them a single bloody thing. —Holding the diary in her hands, Oona slips it, and ends up being held by Saoirse: