Elise sunk down with the rest of the ship, dragged down by her brass innards. Wordlessly, she begged her creator to let go, but she knew he wouldn't. He'd brought her to life out of love, and he would do anything to save her. Elise watched him struggle and drown, her perfect sculpted face impassive while her mind whirred and clicked behind it in turmoil.
She hit the seabed and was swallowed in a cloud of mud as the carcass of the ship broke apart around her. Over the ages her gears seized up and her alabaster curves effervesced and decayed, macerated by the sea. Still her soul lingered on. Aphrodite had infused life into her copper heart, and it would never stop now. Never.
She lay in the Lethe for the longest time, while the lives of men went on oblivious above. When she was dredged up, she was no longer recognisable as an entity, let alone the paragon of femininity she had once been. She was limbless and worn, a sentient pebble. They held her in their hands and probed her jammed up motors. They scraped away the rust and puzzled over her mechanisms. They called her Antikythera and hypothesised her to be some kind of primitive tellurion. Some time later she found herself in a glass case, on display in some kind of temple. People crowded to see her, but it wasn't the same as it had been when she was new. They looked with awe and amazement, but not with adoration.
"Unprecedented sophistication," they said. "One of the great mysteries of the ancient world."
She prayed for a body but received no answer. The gods had died while she slept.