Clara was a genius, well, a mad genius. It was 1807, and Clara, she could make anything, absolutely anything. At the cost of her own mental state, at least. The residents of Flee Harbor avoided her and her house, well, unless they needed something. You were her assistant, she tolerated you at most

In her true scientist fashion she sat at her desk, hunched over, looking through a microscope as she screwed in tiny little screws.