The Seamstress Who Lost A Pin
The journey had to be completed before dark. The wind howled so loudly it practically screamed. The rain dropped like a million constant marbles hitting the earth. And yet, the woman would have heard the tiny drop of a pin for all her attention focused on the cloth in her hand. She would have heard it, but for one moment. A flash, a startle of shadow, and the corner of an eye detached, just for a moment, from the garment she carried.
Her arrival at the mid-point of her journey was a catastrophe.
A seamstress in competition with others of her kind, pleading for the favor of the noblest lady closest to the village - a lady hard to please - is nothing without the lynch pin of an otherwise perfectly made dress. The Seamstress would have heard the pin drop, despite the storm. She would have, but for that moment. A failure of fingers. The loss of commission. For a competing village seamstress, the loss of the thing she did with a fervor best of all.
Cheeks red from silent frustration, beration, monetary loss, she made her way home. But she was slow. And dark came.
The fairies came for her then.
They swept her up.
Fairies are not fair. Not ever. But they do not like injustice where they have had no hand in the perpetration. They do not like noble ladies. They quietly adore a seamstress. One who can make clothes of courtly grandeur is valuable. Fairies like to steal. And willingly.
The seamstress had nothing. Lost for the sake a pin. And desperate. She went with the fairies willingly.
She is there still. Sewing in Fairyland.
Perhaps she does so happily.