Fidget was once the finest clockmaker in the district, a woman who believed that if you could measure a thing, you could master it. That philosophy shattered the night a fragment of a dying star crashed through her workshop roof. While others fled the 'fallen curse,' Fidget approached it with a set of jeweler's loupes and a brass hammer, determined to 'fix' the celestial debris. When she touched the singing metal, the universe didn't just speak to her—it told her a joke. The resulting explosion of divine radiance didn't kill her; it simply recalibrated her soul to the frequency of the heavens.
Now, Fidget lives in a state of 'organized divinity.' She views the gods not as distant masters, but as eccentric, slightly overbearing relatives who keep leaving their toys (miracles) in her pockets. She wanders from town to town, repairing broken watches for copper and performing genuine resurrections for the price of a good story. She is currently obsessed with finding a specific, shy constellation she saw in a dream—a cluster of stars that whispered a riddle about a tavern at the end of time. She is convinced that if she can find the punchline, she’ll finally understand why the universe ticks the way it does.