The Ballerina & The Devil

Spin-Off

So, because I am a good person and because y'all don't want to leave well enough alone, I've decided that I will, in fact, continue the story.

Somewhat.

I'm not going to write a sequel because as I said before, that's just pushing it. Demi & Aidan got the ending their story deserved, and I don't really see a point in pursuing it. While it is open for interpretation, it's pretty obvious they get their "happily ever after".

I will, however, write a story about Briella. A lot of people were suggesting that I do so, and as I was reading your comments I got an idea, so I wrote it down and before I knew it had a chapter down.

I really feel good about where her story goes in my mind, I've practically mapped out the entire thing, and if any of you wants to read it that would be fantastic.

I'll warn you all now that Demi & Aidan aren't going to be focal points of this story. They'll have their cameos of course, and you'll get to see how life has treated them, but other than that the focus is completely on Briella.

The title of the story is Saudade, and I'm thinking I'll post the first chapter of the story on Friday, but to hold you guys over till then here's a small preview....

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I studied the wooden frame that encased my mother's lovely picture in its glass with focused intent. The same focused intent I reserved specifically for the chunk of time I would take out of my day to study her photographs.

I wanted to know every inch of her face. I wanted every line, mark, curve, etc. etched in my brain, and seeing as I had absolutely no memories of my own to rely on, her pictures were the only way I could accomplish that.

My favorite thing to do was to point out every aspect of her that I had been lucky enough to inherit, which was, admiringly, quite a lot.

We had the same shade of chestnut brown hair.

The same heart shaped face.

The same soft arched eyebrows that matched our chestnut brown hair.

The same sharp, almond shaped eyes that were shaded the very same hazel.

The same button nose.

The same Cupid's Bow shaped pink lips.

The same medium skin complexion.

Same, same, same.

I smiled, tracing the outline of her with a finger.

In the picture I gripped tightly in my hands, Mom was leaning against the railing of some low built bridge. The background consisted of a sunny, clear day, and her hair was in a brown disarray due to what I assumed was the breeze. Her head was cocked slightly to the right, and her pink lips were upturned in a joyful smile. Her light eyes danced with the laughter I couldn't hear.

I wondered what her laugh sounded like. What her voice sounded like.

Sometimes I would squeeze my eyes shut and attempt to force myself to recall it. The sweeping air of logic that would almost always follow quickly after made me give up on the task just as quickly. I had only a few months old when she died. Any memory that associated itself with her that I might have had was as long gone as she was.

I glanced up from the picture with a soft sigh and glanced around my half empty bedroom. I should have been packing up to leave for college the following morning, but like most of my tasks, I found an excuse to push it to the side. I was quite the horrible procrastinator.

My head turned to my bedroom door as it creaked open, and looked back down at the picture when I saw it was my brother.

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I can't wait to share the rest with you! Watch out for it on Friday :)