The village buzzed with excitement. The evening of the dance had finally arrived, and the small square in the center of Saint-Étienne had been transformed. Paper lanterns hung from the branches of trees. Lively music spilled from the fiddles and flutes, and already groups of young villagers were gathering, dressed in their best, eager to celebrate and forget the troubles of the world for a few hours.

Marie stood in front of the small mirror in her room, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. It wasn't much; a simple gown of pale blue linen that had been passed down from her mother. The fabric was worn and mended in places, but she had taken great care to wash and press it, making it as presentable as possible. Her mother had helped her sew a ribbon at the waist, and she'd tucked a few sprigs of lavender into her hair to match the soft purple of her bouquet.

It wasn't a noblewoman's gown, but it didn't need to be. Marie's beauty had never come from finery or wealth. Her skin was kissed by the sun and as soft as cream. Her hair, loosely tied back with a few stray curls framing her face, carried the scent of wildflowers. Even without the fanciest dress, she looked like she belonged in a world far more luxurious than their small village.

"Marie, are you ready?" Camille's voice called from the hallway, followed by Juliette's excited giggles.

Marie smiled at her reflection one last time and turned to meet her sisters. Both of them were dressed simply, like her, though Juliette wore a crown of daisies Marie had woven for her earlier that afternoon. The three sisters linked arms, making their way through the door and toward the square.

As they walked, people in the village turned to look at them, at her. The admiration was clear, though Marie had grown used to it by now. Mothers smiled at her kindly, nodding their approval. Young men, eager and clumsy, tipped their hats, their eyes lingering on her as they passed. Even the older men, who had seen many a village beauty, would pause for a moment, shaking their heads in quiet acknowledgment of the angelic presence Marie carried with her wherever she went.

But it was always her warmth that captivated the village. Though her beauty was undeniable, it was the kindness in her smile and the softness in her voice that endeared her to them all.

As the three sisters reached the square, the dance was already underway. Couples spun in circles, laughter filling the air as feet tapped to the music. The square was aglow with the warmth of lanterns and the joy of the gathering.

It wasn't long before Marie found herself at the edge of the square, watching the dancers with a quiet smile. Her friends had already pulled her into a few rounds of spinning and laughing, but now she stood catching her breath, her heart still fluttering with the thrill of it all.

That's when she saw him.

He was standing near the well, speaking with a man Marie recognized as one of the wealthier landowners in the region. The young man beside him was tall, with dark hair that curled at the edges and a thoughtful expression. His clothes, though simple, were finer than those of the villagers, and the way he held himself was different, more reserved, as though he were watching the world from a distance.

Their eyes met, just for a moment, and Marie felt a flutter in her chest, a warmth spreading through her that wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but still felt new. There was a softness in his gaze, a shyness that mirrored her own, and for the first time that evening, she felt a strange sense of anticipation, not just for the dance, but for whatever this meeting could bring.

Before she could look away, her father approached, smiling as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Marie, this is Louis." he said, his voice warm but formal. "He's the son of Monsieur Lefèvre, who owns the land near the river."

Louis stepped forward, offering a small smile. Up close, he seemed even more handsome; his features sharp, but softened by the awkwardness of youth. His eyes, a deep brown, held a kind of gentleness that made Marie's heart skip a beat.

"Mademoiselle." Louis greeted, his voice quiet, respectful. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Marie curtsied, a soft blush rising to her cheeks. "The pleasure is mine, Monsieur."

For a moment, they stood there, the music and laughter swirling around them, though Marie barely noticed any of it. She felt the weight of her father's approval behind her, but more than that, she felt the strange warmth of Louis's presence, an attraction that was quiet but undeniable.

After what felt like an eternity, Louis cleared his throat. "Would you care to dance?"

Marie's smile grew, and without hesitation, she took his hand. Together, they stepped into the square, joining the others as the music picked up once more. The dance was simple - a reel that Marie had learned as a child - but there was something different about it now. With Louis's hand in hers, she felt the rhythm of the music in her bones, her heart beating in time with the steps.

They moved together, though both were still timid, exchanging only a few glances and smiles. There were no grand declarations or lingering touches, but there didn't need to be. There was something sweet in their silence, an understanding that words would have only made awkward. Their connection was soft, fragile, but blooming.

As the evening wore on, they danced together again, and again. At one point, they found themselves standing at the edge of the square, catching their breath and watching the other dancers spin in circles.

"Do you come to the village often?" Marie asked, breaking the silence.

"Not as often as I'd like." Louis admitted, his voice quiet. "My father keeps me busy on the estate, but... I think I'll be coming here more frequently now."

Marie smiled, feeling her heart flutter once again. Perhaps this arrangement her father had made wasn't something to be feared, but something to be embraced. Louis wasn't just a nobleman's son: he was kind, gentle, and there was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel as though she were more than just a village girl.

The night passed too quickly, and soon, the lanterns were being dimmed and the music slowed. As the dance came to an end, Louis walked her back to the cottage, his hand brushing hers as they strolled through the darkened streets. They didn't speak much, but the silence was comfortable. By the time they reached her home, Marie's heart was full, with the excitement of possibility.

Louis smiled, a hint of shyness still lingering in his expression. "Goodnight, Mademoiselle. I hope to see you again soon."

"And you, Monsieur." Marguerite replied softly, feeling the warmth of his words linger long after he had left.

The next morning, the village was quieter than usual. The remnants of the dance were still visible; lanterns swaying in the breeze, a few garlands of flowers strewn across the square, but the lively spirit of the night before seemed to have been replaced by something more subdued.

As Marie made her way to the well, her thoughts still lingering on Louis and the strange warmth that had blossomed between them, she noticed a small group of villagers gathered near the market. There was an air of unease, a murmur of voices that didn't carry the usual morning cheer.

"Have you heard?" one of the older men whispered to his neighbor, his voice low but clear enough for Marie to catch. "Someone's fallen ill... terribly ill."

Marie's heart skipped a beat. Illness wasn't uncommon in the village, but the way the man spoke, the fear in his voice, sent a chill down her spine.

She approached the well cautiously, listening to the murmurs around her.

"Who is it?" another voice asked.

"Old Jean." someone replied. "Came down with a fever overnight. But it's not like anything we've seen before... his skin..."

Marie felt a wave of unease wash over her. She filled her bucket at the well, her mind racing with the quiet dread that had settled over the village. Something was wrong. And though she couldn't yet understand what it was, a small, dark seed of fear had already begun to take root.