Elizabeth has always been told how gorgeous she was, her entire life. As a child she was cute, in adolescence she was pretty, and growing up into a woman she was now considered beautiful.

But she could never bring herself to think so… not at all. In fact, she knew she wasn't beautiful. She always had the definition of beauty stuck in the back of her head. Beauty: the qualities that give pleasure to the senses.

There were times where Elizabeth would become immensely sad about it… during these times she made sure to lock herself in her dressing room and make sure all the maids were ushered away and reassured. She found herself a seat in front of the polished vanity, where she would stare her reflection down. Her green eyes shimmered brightly and her pale skin tone complimented every feature of her face. Her blonde spirals bounced whenever she made the slightest of movements, and her rounded, full cheeks always had a light pink tint to them.

Beauty… pleasure to the senses. One thing Elizabeth could admit to herself was that she knew how to make herself attractive. She knew the trends to follow, the tricks to try, and naturally she was born with well shaped features. But according to her definition, that only made her beautiful to look at…

What else? Certainly not hearing. She could see through the corner of her eyes how people winced whenever she simply opened her lips. Whenever she would excitedly run to people to tell them positive news, she could see them mentally bracing their ears. Whenever tears formed in her eyes, she saw how people were about to cover their ears to drown out the piercing noise she was forced to call her voice.

Smell wasn't anything anyone ever noticed… no matter how much money she spent buying the fanciest bottles of perfumes and other fragrances, the only reactions she could get from it were people coughing, freely letting her know just how unnecessary she made it.

Touch… touch was something much too hard for her to think about, mainly with Ciel in mind. What was he supposed to feel? Layers up on layers of clothing over the binding corsets? Perhaps he was supposed to feel the silk upon her gloved hands… yes, that was soft… but it wasn't her, not at all. He could feel nothing of her but her binding hugs in which he always tried to push himself from and avoid.

Elizabeth's thoughts easily got the better of her… Taste was the only other sense… and it was just as well one she failed… she told herself she would never be kissed. He simply wasn't that type. She would never get to see if her lips were satisfying enough, and he would never grace her with the honor of ruining what she called his purity. She was simply too dirty for that.

Anytime Lizzy was given a compliment, she modestly took it in… only to later that night cry to herself, watching her tears drown out her "pretty" face. She could never be beautiful, she could never be good enough… for him or for herself… She could never be the lover he wished for. She could never be the wife that was designed for him from birth; she couldn't even a person she herself wanted to keep alive. Her purpose in life was lost, and yet her weakness kept her from being able to do anything about it.

That is, unable to do anything other than cry and keep all her feelings bottled up to herself.