a fairy story

Sometimes in the murk of a dirty winter a bright light shines forth, or perhaps from evil cometh grace, or..............
anyway this couple owned a haberdashers in town. [It was actually more just a fabric shop but I like the word] the shop was OK, very bright and filled with shiny materials and cross stitch and fun fur, the usual stuff.
Mrs Shop is/looks like a large, rough skinned, matriarchal Romany, arms folded across her bosom and somewhat accusing eyes. Sometimes I bought something, not often I am a threads girl on recycled tat usually.
However the world turns, as it does - relentlessly, and paying no attention to us tiny persons clinging to our life stories- and Mr Shop took the money and upped off with another. We spit on his story, which may have a different bias from his point of view, but we work with what we have got.
Mrs Shop doubtless uttered curses of occult vengeance, gathered up her stock and retrenched at home, which reveals itself as an attractive Victorian farm workers cottage in the next village.
Last week I was invited into her ancient and rickety shed in the back garden where the stock piles, quietly glittering. She has had several sales in village halls which I had dismissed in my ignorance thinking they would be the usual rip off.
However to move the stock on [before it rots] and provide a tax free income she is now selling to all comers for £5 a bolt, regardless of how much fabric is wrapped there on, plus listening to her story and that of her four strapping sons and her daughter in law's fathers gout, etc.
Obviously I turned into a manic magpie and Needed as much Shiny as i could fly out of the door - and had to be tied down, notwithstanding the above comment that I rarely buy new fabric.
I now have a magical corner in my smaller room and enough glittering fabric to clothe a regiment of fairies and the occasional elf.
At least it will warm me through the winter just by its glow.