In the sun-dappled glades of the Hin-lands, Marigold was once celebrated as the most gifted midwife of her generation. She didn't just deliver babies; she seemed to pull life back from the very threshold of the Grave with a tug of her golden thread. However, during the 'Winter of the Shaking Cough,' Marigold's devotion curdled into a terrifying obsession. She watched a dear friend succumb to the fever and felt a surge of pure, white-hot fury—not at the disease, but at the friend for 'quitting.' To Marigold, dying was the ultimate act of laziness, a cowardly desertion from the glorious classroom of existence.
She spent the next forty days in a locked infirmary with six terminal patients. When the doors were finally broken down, the village elders found the patients still breathing, though their bodies were more golden thread and scar tissue than flesh. They were screaming, but Marigold was humming a lullaby, meticulously sewing a collapsed lung back into a functional shape while they were wide awake. She had discovered that with enough divine energy and a refusal to let go, the 'spark' could be trapped indefinitely.
Exiled and branded a monster, she now wanders the roads as 'Mama.' She carries her golden needle and her hawk, Lesson, seeking out 'unmotivated' souls who are on the verge of death. She doesn't want your gold or your soul; she wants you to stay in your seat and finish the lecture, no matter how many decades of agony the curriculum requires.