In the small village of Saint-Nicolas, winter had arrived. The air was filled with the palpable excitement of the children as they looked forward to the annual snowball fight. It was a tradition that had been passed down from generation to generation, a battle that pitted the children of the village against each other in a frenzied flurry of snow.
Among the children eagerly awaiting the start of the snowball fight was Marie, a bright-eyed girl with a mischievous smile and a quick wit. She had grown up in the village and had always looked forward to the snowball fight as it brought her closer to her friends and family.
As the day arrived, the children gathered outside, the snow crunching under their feet as they formed into two teams. The rules were simple, they had to stay within the village limits, and the first team to retreat would be declared the losers. Marie and her team were determined to win, sprinting towards their opponents and firing snowballs in quick succession.
There was something magical about the snowball fight that day, perhaps it was the way the snowflakes floated down from the sky, or the way the sunlight danced on the ice. As the battle continued, Marie found herself caught up in the moment, laughing and shouting as she threw snowballs with abandon.
As the hours passed, the battle showed no sign of slowing down, both teams showing no signs of retreat. The village watched on in amusement as the children ran around, throwing snowballs, and dodging out of the way of incoming projectiles.
But as the sun began to set, the mood began to change. The children started to get tired, the snow now turned to slush making it harder to gain any traction. Marie’s team was on the verge of retreat, with their opponents closing in on them from all sides.
Marie tried to rally her team, shouting encouragements and darting in and out of the group, but it was no use. Her teammates fell one by one, until she stood alone, surrounded by the enemy.
It was then that something unexpected happened. One of her opponents, a boy named Jacques, stepped forward, offering her his hand. Marie hesitated, unsure of what to do, before accepting the hand offered to her.
The battle was over, and it was Jacques who had won it for his team. But as they walked back to the village, Marie couldn’t shake the feeling that the snowball fight had been something more than just a game. There had been a connection between her and Jacques, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
In the days that followed, Marie found herself thinking about Jacques more and more, her heart racing at the mere thought of him. She would see him around the village, and every time they caught each other’s eye, she felt her cheeks flush.
As the days turned into weeks, Marie and Jacques began to spend more time together, walking around the village and talking about anything and everything. Marie found herself drawn to Jacques more and more, feeling something that she had never felt before. It was a feeling of warmth, of belonging, of love.
And so it was that the snowball fight of 1897, so famous in the annals of Saint-Nicolas, became known as the day that love was born in the village.
