Once upon a time, there lived an old peasant couple, Ivan and Marie. They were happy in all things but one: they had no children of their own.
One unforgettable winter, after a heavy snowfall, the village children played outside, building snow figures. Watching them, Ivan had an idea. "Wife," he said, "why shouldn't we make a snow woman too?"
"Let us make a little snow child," Marie replied, "and pretend it is a living one."
They went into the garden and worked with all their might, shaping a little body, hands, feet, and a head from snow. As Ivan carefully shaped the mouth, he felt a warm breath on his cheek. He started back in surprise—behold! The snow-child's eyes met his, and its raspberry-red lips smiled.
"Heaven has sent us a child at last!" Marie exclaimed, trembling with joy. She named the child Snowflake. The loose snow fell away like an eggshell, revealing a real little girl in her arms.
Snowflake grew fast, becoming more beautiful each day. Her skin was white as snow, her eyes blue as forget-me-nots, and her hair long and golden. She was clever, good, and beloved by all the village children.
Winter passed, and spring arrived. As the world grew warm and gay with birds and flowers, Snowflake grew sadder. She hid in the shadows, finding pleasure only near sparkling streams or at dawn and twilight. During storms, when hail whitened the earth, she became bright and joyous again, but she wept when the sun melted the ice.
On Midsummer's Eve, the village girls invited Snowflake to dance in the woods. Though hesitant, Marie let her go, urging the girls to be careful. In the woods, they sang, danced, and finally lit a fire of dry grass. They began to jump over the flames, one after another, with Snowflake last in line.
Suddenly, they heard a sigh and a groan behind them. They turned—Snowflake was gone. They searched everywhere, but she had vanished.
For days, everyone searched in vain. Long after others gave up, Ivan and Marie wandered the woods, calling for their Snowflake. What had become of her? Had a beast dragged her to its lair? Had a bird carried her away?
No. With the first breath of flame that swept over her, Snowflake had melted away. All that remained was a little soft haze, floating upwards.