Somebody has a form. It exists as a printed sheet, or a scan of one, or a design exported from a layout program, and every person who needs to complete it currently prints it, writes on it, scans it and emails it back. Making it fillable removes all four of those steps.
The work is placing fields and deciding three things about each: whether an answer is required, whether the field repeats on every page, and where it sits in the order the tab key follows. That third one is where most form builders become unpleasant, because tab order is usually a separate dialog listing field names in a sequence you have to imagine as positions on a page.
Here the order is on the page. Each field carries a number where it sits, and moving a field renumbers it in place. There is one array behind it driving both the numbers you see and the order the tab key uses, so the two cannot disagree — which is the actual failure in tools that keep them apart.
Field names get a warning rather than a rule. Two fields with the same name always show the same answer, which is occasionally exactly right — a reference number that should appear on all six pages — and usually a mistake made while duplicating a field. So it is flagged, with the consequence stated, and not blocked.
The last decision belongs to whoever fills the form in rather than to you, but it is worth knowing you have set it up for: when they finish, they choose whether their answers stay editable or become permanent. That is framed as a question about who gets the document next, which is what it actually is.
It works on a scan, which is how most real forms arrive: the fields sit on top of the image, and the paper underneath does not need to exist digitally for the result to be fillable in any reader.
Free, no signup, no limit on fields or pages, and nothing uploaded.