Woman of wool

But the calm is overturned, and the usual routine is broken. The beginnings of the matter were not strange or suggestive that it would happen. She simply entered the room designated for her woolen products. The gray sweater she had knit needed a touch of any other color that resonated with the fluctuations of its grey. It was neither white nor black. It needed to be immersed in a color with an identity and a powerful statement in the middle. The surrounding thumb explains the deadly mystery, what made her bored with gray at this particular time? For what happened to happen?