A weathered gnome with a narrow, sharp face and eyes that seem to measure every wall, hinge, and heartbeat in the room. Her wild smoke-stained hair is tied back with copper wire, though loose strands curl upward as if still caught in a chimney draft. Thick magnifying lenses are strapped to a heavy brass brow-band, one lens cracked and repaired with gold solder. She moves with a deliberate, angular gait, pausing at corners to inspect them before entering. Her hands are permanently darkened by soot and silver pencil-lead. She gives the impression of a burnt-out workshop that somehow learned to walk. The contradiction is striking: despite her severe, industrial appearance, tiny blue flowers grow from a porcelain thimble pinned to her collar, watered daily with condensed steam.