They imprisoned her for her father's vocal arguments that android's do have souls, since he was out of reach. "Blasphemy must be punished," said the clergyman to the sounds of a slamming door and clacking lock.
Today, they mockingly toss David's broken body into her prison with her. She circles him inspecting the damage, and looking for a flicker of life. "If the spark is not yet fled...", she thinks to herself. The club that they struck him with when he leapt to her defense had separated the top of his head. David's empty, staring eyes, the clear separation of his spine somewhere internally and the gradual ooze of his hydraulic blood leaves little hope, but she completes her inspection while she fights back the tears. "There's no sign of life at all."
She draws the death art to send his soul onward with the only ink she has in her cell, the fluid slowly seeping from his wounds. She begins with the flowers that David had tended outside her father's mansion. As she draws each one, it conjures tears and memory: David smiling over amaryllis flowers; David's hands covered with rich earth as he prepares a bed of soil for a new planting; David noticing her watching as he trims the roses and his first words to her, "Would you like one, m'Lady?"; Herself among the flowers too, now that the ice had been broken, asking a thousand questions and delighting in his calm, thoughtful replies.
She starts upon the butterflies and dries her eyes. "No more tears," she swears to herself, "I've given David his and they'll have none." Finishing, she bends down and lifts David's broken head to steal a kiss. With her own eyes closed she misses it as David's frozen death-stare warms briefly and his eyes slowly close.